sitting
in dark am I
in
these shadows
grown
by the moon
whose
dull light
robbed
each tree
of
green
and
sky of blue
only
to shine the merest points
at
this earth
to
tumble from broken mirrors
what
a strange existence live I
among
the murmuring lost,
a
path along the stream
spirits
deflect futures
at
a fleeting touch
afloat
in currents
formed
nowhere.
a
conversation began
now
or then
with
whom or them
how
long ago
it
happened again
and
again we spoke
and
spoke
against
our walk
our
steps
on
ancient streets
of
a river
where
memory,
thrown
unheeded,
by
happy dead
who
smile
and
laugh
and
work
and
trod,
their
eyes, oblivious
to
this color washing cities,
sometimes
stare,
you
at me or me at you,
with
lives
full
of watchful anger,
or
envy,
or
bland joy
wrapped
around,
of
tears, streams, washed sullen
from
faces
who
now so live .. or not
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