Wednesday, August 28, 2013

found

We used to trip over the edges of sunsets
landing at the endless horizon of night,
but there is no faith in the tangible.
you took my hand to guide my tongue,
teaching me the words you wanted.
Touching on the silence of ruin.
the loose trail of days left behind
dog the present, fraying in the wind
as seasons cross imaginary lines.
the twisted roads of this river are filled with
deserted footsteps. Phantom limbs
that still find me



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