XXI. Awakening (Reversed)

dormant
by Kavi Kshiraj

memory, a glimpse unhanded.

my tectonic mouth is open around
sound. drawn lines melt in mist.

memory is a winged animal,
feathers dark and soft when he slips
into the sun.

i hold his pooled
reflection in my arms.

at the river of your sternum,
my ashes sink: pale, drifting.
will you mourn at my pyre?
earth is silent under foot.

the sun fastens the clasp of my dress.

Kavi Kshiraj (they/them) is a queer, Indo-American poet found in New Jersey. They spend time on hobbies such as writing, mythology, and their various identity crises.