A small Weekend Words for All Souls/Dia de los Muertos.
Bear
I am under a matted tent of grey fur,
Say nothing of the previous, violent, upheavals.
I would rather it rain
Than bring a mocking blue,
Prefer silence.
But preference falls like a puff of ash—
Not pushed by a discernable force
Choice is forfeit.
And I can only stand limply aside
And allow the thought to perish
Like eyes of unironic blue
That never before asked for help.
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