Weeks of Silence

I am storing all my tears until
they’re deep enough to drown you.
Thinking of an errant seed, from crumbled blacktop springing,
of a wounded rabbit limping low across the grass,
thinking of the dead sedge, from the mower flinging,
Of the feathered shadows twitching as they make a diving pass.
I am alone, again, in another week of silence,
wondering what week you live in,
wishing, maybe yearning, just a little,
for your violence.

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