Wednesday, February 6, 2019

PHASES OF THE SUN Comments

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The sun glued to the window is no more a white-hot ball that defeats the eye. Shrunken to a point of cold that I wipe from the glass.
It stamps its drained reflection on the wall.
After, vanished, sun pollinates the dark. Glimmers from burnt-out cracks.
Glides with the dark, itself inters itself.
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Andriana Škunca
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