
We linger here
holding on
to some unnamable presence
these rooms
these walls
the elusive slips of light entering
from windows
framing tall trees
silent open skies.
These lands hold us
fixed in final sacred moments.
We whose quiet chapter ends
here.
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Tall brights
illuminating street lights
everything’s new
Enter this new house
foreigner me
I prefer old houses
I grow by trees.
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On an eve
of disaster
standing silent and true
three windows witness
soft light crude
hold on steady
they took nothing
from you.
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Along the Gap of Dunloe
blackstones observe
your descent
one chestnut horse
lingers on a rise
you toss poetry
against boarded windows
of the ruins.
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Thousands now
years behind
learned adjunct fools
speed forward
stumble back
we fall we fall we fail
quick—
reflect redirect
or flounder.
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Pencil on paper. Images arise. Message received.