If I am still enough I see Liliana, a figment.
I try to tell her about sadness. I try
to be specific; I say, “God
is abusive.” I say, “When my lover said
he no longer loved me
I felt I was covered in ropes.”
But then she vanishes,
as God does, or she returns in a different form—
this time as an avalanche, a ledge of snow, slipping
from the roof of a warehouse into
even more snow. I will tell her next I think
that is one way of living: slipping off
into some indistinguishable state
of more and more snow.
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