Wednesday, May 17, 2017

When Alone

When Alone

Your voice, sickle echo, rebounds
off the wall. I, a thousand Argos

look at myself in your mirror skin
for a few seconds

but the slightest noise drives you away.
I see you leave through the door of the book,

the atlas ceiling, the floor board, the glass page.
You leave me without a pulse

or voice, without a face, no mask like a naked man
in the middle of the Street of Stares.

You’re the one I talk to when I forge the sun
with your footsteps.

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