From Noor Ibn Najam:

I scrawl your name
at the bottom of the river
I sing it and it sings me
back. What I’d give for a name
so keen it whittles
the valleys of my neck. I’m forever drenched
in this night, and you
no longer exist. The river catches
the sky’s black, ink
meant to preserve a memory. I stay
because it’s easy.

– Untitled

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