we make names
invocations
we fill them
with our memories
until
we are empty
and that
is when
we make
a silence
and hang it
in the air
nothing stops
but us
not the birds
or their songs
nor the clouds
that assemble
curious crowds
uncomprehending
if they cry
it isn't for us
or anyone
at all
and that
is what hurts
more than
anything
that nature
doesn't remember
that day
like we do
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