The Alna
where clothes recline
Once upon a time,
You dreamt with other men.
I too shared dreams with other women.
Today,
Our clothes flock on the same Alna.
Yours on one half,
Mine on the other.
But we straddle
On the same clothes horse.
My shirts perch like a murder of crows,
And your skirts huddle like a conspiracy of ravens.
They are as if in a funeral,
On this woodwork where we hang our stories,
For we only wear black these days.
Do you think
We should sleep
Without dreams,
Even as it is covered with layers
Of implacable patina of love,
The Alna!
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