broken lines,
the poles snapped
here and there
with rain freezing,
coating them with ice.
interference crackling
in the ear, and the
snow falls and falls
to cover the fields
the green and the dead
in unspeakable
silence
only broken
by gushes of wind
and the sound
of footsteps
off and on
swallowed by
stillness
in a world
without echo.
broken lines,
broken lines.
i am cooking at night
for reference:
i am cooking soup
with barley grain
and olive oil
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