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I have to swallow the bones of kindness
in order to
hear
what the heart wants,
in order to
feel
the syncopation
—from a newly born delegation
of solitary devotions–
sending out one long lonely signal:
please
let my heart of want
become an origin of
more.
More antique bestiaries filled with childhood pets
(no need for shallow grave, no lost reliquary),
More paper bags filled with Valentine’s
—apocrypha made beautiful
because it was lost
then found.
Please
more young promises to illuminate these old bones.

 


Shannon Quinn lives in Toronto. Her work has appeared in The Literary Review of Canada, Etchings, Maisonneuve, Existere, Subterrain and here in Halfway Down the Stairs.

© 2012, Shannon Quinn

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