Silence

It is all our extended silence.
Her death is blooming at 36,
In a bold chest’s bird silence.

Silence extends beyond poet
We have not heard of earlier.
The poem blooms her silence

And your night and her days.
It is all  in an extended silence
Which you have not heard of.

We are in an extended silence.
We are both drowned in quiet.
We bloom silent lotus in mud.

(Remembering a short-lived poet of silence Flora Alejandra Pizarnik (1936–1972) )

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