By Reza Shayestehpour

As thunder rumbles hungrily in the distance,

A ghostly hand carefully carves a fragile dahlia into my heart

And tears form rockpools in my eyes,

Reflecting an aged television set, primordial earthen marshes, burned asphalt

A beacon glows dimly from afar,

And the veil ripples, where inside trembles another infant incandescence

A raindrop or two, a tiny toddler’s shoe,

The firm reminder of something that bore us down from above

And the rain starts to pour.

© Zelda Reville


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