By J.D. Isip

Dark enough to wonder
like before faith
or the first time
you try to taste lips

a crowd of boys huddled
for want of warmth
or conspiracy
with cold on words

blown in crystaled breath
against the hard
black wall of night
and blacker shades of trees

and sixth grade boys
crunching hard white
candy ring mints
that clack against teeth

and cut the deep night
and the bits of doubt
that grind in our mouths
to flashes of light.

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