Every Avenue

Your words were thicker than
The Black Forest
and thicker than blood

(by a long chalk)

you treated blood like water,
no, like stone, like brick
made without straw

(your house took all that)

and there, around that house
so flimsy a hufflepuffer could
poofty it away with ballooned cheeks

(and a sharp swift exhalation, just one)

you built with words a fortress
with walls thick and battlements
that do not gleam in sunsets

(like moonlight dancing with the sun on many-waters)

but brood and loom grey and flat
absorbing light and cutting off
every avenue.

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