zephyr sings a lullaby into my body
that she may light my eyes and dulcify my tongue
don't listen to her—
the aphorism of my stomach roared in hurt
and reluctantly, i was submerged in its words:
that a lay cannot quench the lust for bread
the lyrics to sweet melodies won't enchant
food into my ears when my body perishes for lack
of a real meal.
how does the wind's music heal me?
can she cast out the scars of drought's blade on my lips?
how does the wind's music birth waters?
waters—not the tears i drink, not the ichor that spills from my vulva.
i search for memories of a once beautiful land
but my eyes cleave to the art of stagnancy
because dawn and dusk have lost the heavens’ downpour
and even the rainmaker has begun to plead
send down the rain
the moment hunger gobbled up his pride
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