A MAN OF HIS WORD Comments

I trace the word skin. At a feast of claws and feathers the word crow dismembers it
like a flayed beast.

I sow the word jasmine. When it's about to sprout its fragrance, the word desert
wipes it out, whisks away its sap.

I write the word eternity and a rose withers. I hurl the word bird and it spirals down,
featherless and dry.

Not even the word water remains of the word ice.
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