I remember your ghosts
in the broken light of morning.
They followed you from a night
immense as your childhood.
You spoke to them in syllables
of waterfalls and riverbeds.
In the cement city of my soul
I could only catch the echo
of the butterflies.
They all wait for you
in the corridors of austere stone
where you walk toward them, alone,
even while I hold your heart
against my heart.
As through black water,
I try to follow you,
but your memories have transfigured you,
and I lose you in the dawn
that never breaks.
Autumn Nights
An Arts Guild
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