By Caitlín Róisín


a film of sweat

washing dry

my lips apart

the heavy uhhhh

oh the heavy limbs

stuck here and here


blew into my nose

and I tasted

the grey light, also

cotton wound on dust

a warm shape gone

fraying the reeds, horses


kick the day, my toes

brush the wet neck

soiling our land our

dry mountain we

are lead out of the desert

we are sunk onto the coast

low sun

weight-ed sky

there is an arc of dryness

our wheels could click

I watch it part and



the salt licking my lips

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