diaries 20|22

To the Ashes

We’re heading into the night. We’re shadows of ash
on transparent stallions.
The piebalds won’t budge.
They just wail and burn.

Whip the horses and see the scars,
scoop water from an empty pail.
Behind us, nothing but loss.
Sail off, but where to? – nothing around but soot

Our dead are everywhere –
in the trees, blossoms and fetes.
That same ash in their mouths
won’t let them wake from death.

The light floods in, but wait; it’s hard
when night falls from your eyes.
When coals in place of hearts
die out and quickly turn to dust.

by Anzhelina Polonskaya

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