Lauren Hilger & Dionissios Kollias

The invention

I play a game —

I ask my father, write the first word you think of,
and he writes my name.

We need a level to surpass,
the hurt of loss to subside — if it does.

The face imprinted on my needle threader,
comfortable isolated monolith.


This man and my father carry firewood, crating silence for me.

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