relics


By Lilian Negoi

Ashen lullabies
glide along the ochre
of mud’s memoirs;
flowing themselves into
odorless reflections
of longing and rain.

The sound of
a galloper’s trotting hooves
and the withered scent
of some lost love letter
still adorn the road’s stony bones.

Silence doesn’t care
what it enshrouds,
as long as the path
leads to the past.

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