Watching the movement of emptiness sinking on my nostrils,
A part of Earth tremors inside my Corona of dismantling systems
With crooked pens, I still draw mundane loops of Reds and Black
Planets dance around my white waist
with slumbers of lilies stuck inside the windowsill
I leap and quiver, rebuking my seizure
For the numerous cracks now building under my blouse
Silhouette of Blueberries ruptures somewhere.
My eyelids become heavy and heavy
and the tears as my faithful companion
I sleep and walk and turn and weep.
Oh, my fingers shall be healed
and the knives of blood shall be washed
It shall be done.
It’s how we Survive.