by Shay Vera-Cruz

It has a sound: the wide solitude of gravity

               in the breath between one star &

                             the next.

imagine suns,                   scarce

              inches apart.

                             & still possessed by



                             summer frosted diamond &



                             rain rising up,

                             instead of falling.

The patience

              of storms like waiting giants.


When it rains                 Atlas bites his tongue

              as the sky dares to buckles under

                            its own weight & he

wonders if this

                                          is what he must

                                                        sustain for.


It has a sound: a heavy hand in the dark,

                            trees falling in counterpoint—


                            the space between a body &

                                          its elements;

between a thing &


                                                      How absence

is its own kind of silence & how

                            the night can sink so dark &


it becomes something

                           you have to carry.

The Poor Print

The Oriel College Student Newspaper. Run by students, with contributions from the JCR, MCR, SCR, and Staff. Current Executive Editors: Monim Wains and Siddiq Islam

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