Turmeric and Toast
It can barely be said
we make faint gestures
We burn our paper
depend on smoke
depend on faint breath
upwards
Turmeric and toast
this strange yellow
foreign language
of exotic taste
and we look for the
familiar
to settle on our tongues
to give speech
to the dreams
to the comforts
that we will knit
to encompass
our beloveds
to keep them warm
as much as food
this warmth against
indifferent breezes
shelter from rains
we weave a cloak
we raise a roof
a belief.
Our faint gestures
have collected an enormous
weight
unshifting through many
distortions.
Our nakedness
clothed in gold
so heavy
we long for
the faint gesture
the barely said
the whisper
of autumn.
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