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Imaginary Time

by Meg Smith

Friend, you are falling in space,
caught by the static of the plague.
I read the chatter between you
and the dark place.
I said it aloud, and it was
cast out, weightless, starless.
The Earth will not spin faster
for your blood and breath so spent.
The plague sets us apart,
but so does the drift of the truth.

Copyright © 2020 by Meg Smith

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