The memory of hail by Terry Cummings


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Opened my brow's inventory
wreathed and broke
Hot wind invigorated,
Confounded
finding mercy
finding pause

harried
Bled and consoled
I must once have been flesh
I am now a glimmer of might
Creating only thought

That sadly parodies you

you touch me in the hope
That perhaps our hearts should break again

And I constrict
I have no industry left
I am as ash

I am the memory of hail