And she drowns

The interconnected wave of nothingness
washes over her lips
in smothering strides
from shouting words of poetry at the
dying stars
exploding ever so quickly
too quickly
too slowly

And she said nothing.
Perhaps there was nothing to be said
on strings,
on life,
on stars,
on big bangs

or sea breeze,
oak trees,
spring leaves,
or salmon tracing their paths back up the stream
from whence they came.

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