in the spring
or
at the spring
i cannot recall
the voices of those men in unison
playing their ungodly harmonies against my spine
so close I can hear their sinews
shivering
in the cold of Eastern Europe, in the careful
composition of state-sponsored culture
that has born unknowing
the ache of sex and birth, the keen of loss
in voice, in a simple air that leaves the mouth
across the instrument
of the soul.
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