Wednesday, 9 August 2023

visitations

 visitations


i wrote of my village

but all had fled

no one bothered to look

no one saw the dereliction of belonging

where the ochre cinders were rendered

in the cold hearths of the furnaces

hearts had congealed 


the ghosts have moved house

emptiness moves the thoughts aside

it all falls crooked with the thoughts

like leaves on the moss steps

drip drip drip

time time time

passes away with the ghosts

your ghost remains

you leave

rather too quickly for your own good

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