Earthquakes and Filaments
Mercedes was a
girl whose parents
thought I looked
like incandescent light.
She thought I looked
like highway driving
through the night.
We would try to
curb this war with
words that raised
the moving floors.
Her father was skilled
with his hands but
not his eyes.
Her mother walked
by as if guided by
musical notes.
She didn’t share
either trait.
We collapsed from
the weight of a dream
that was three fourths
mine.
Our time wasted
on her slow walking
and my closed eyes.
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