Thursday, December 14, 2006

Vampire's Night

The lights of cities cushion from
wildreaming, broken wonders clear
under moonlight.

Saving coins for a sunny day
dead currencies rust-red under fingertips,
we are all too hollow here.

Voices we never hear are
Speaking what we can't ignore --
The trees are, soft, dying.

What we hold to slips away:
Ashes on tongue, dust on a hand;
Promises of summer.

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