“You arrive at the edge and realize the edge has been waiting.”
- Poet
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I spoke to silence once; it became my interlocutor— in an incongruous sunset, January: gold transmuting to red, saffron-orange then to violet the color grief contracts to pressed through winter's alchemical sieve— the colour that comes before silence. Loneliness is pigmented. Sky renders loss—light waning. grey restless sleep
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