TWELVE ❋ Bara Hladík

the clock spins from twelve to twelve
the weather changes, laundry piles.

and I a body or a memory. sometimes
I’m bursting but my body holds me in

thunder, rain, seeds, sun, flowers
hold your grief like a fruit

isn’t it beautiful that the
atmosphere to our planet

is the same relative thickness
as an eggshell to an egg.