Blood

There is a stain on the wall —
Malbec runs down to the base
boards. Ah! those violet years,
fire-worked and falling,
undisturbed by the rag urge
to wipe them away.

Was it stupor or prayer:
Blood of the father —
Blood of the son —
Blood of the broken ghost.

Image: Rowan Heuvel on Unsplash

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