Old prayers lay thick as tar on the tongue,
Each syllable, a bell tolling midnight.
The past, a beast gnawing through its own leg,
Yearning to escape its broken footprints.

I sift through my own ashes for relics,
A stranger in every shard of mirror.
New dawns swell like lungs full of fresh wind,
Teething on the promise of forgiveness.

What remains of us once the smoke clears?
A handful of vowels, a...