(by Nikki Paredes)
They say there is an old cave
where I am heading. They say
people leave a part of themselves
there: a possession carved from bone,
or a useless yearning, or an anguish,
all giving them a human face, a design.
Yet I brought nothing with me. I remain
on the verge like gradient, like the lie
a sailor tells when there is nothing to miss.
The boat soon moors. A woman waits
by the caver's mouth. She lights a candle
for someone who will never come back.
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