March 10, 2017

There is a sun
That blazes like a torch
It is the high of wings
The crumble of walls
The extinction of
Footnotes
Scrawled over with stone
Names that don't stop giving
Graveyard green
The oxygen of silence
A soft figure
Looks at her hand
Sunken slabs of light
Resting over lists and tapestries
An experiment of the
Half-forgotten
Regions that never die

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