the coldest day of the year

we don’t cry for them
soul long gone from their bones
sinking deeper into the dirt, farther off into the heart of the sun
no, no.
we see the blade forming from within us
blacksmiths all, forged from the ores within guilt and regret
we hone the edge with spit as it creeps out of our lungs up our throats
skin the point to perfection at the lids of our eyes
and carve out tears from the ducts
our hearts weakened without those stones
at once we are heavier, lighter, elder, child
skin never weaker, chest all the hollower
no, no.

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