The Sun made but a brief visitation
on the morning sky, and in gray light
waned lies the bare land of spring
under unbroken milk-white of the clouds.
Empty the cracked asphalt of the roads
from the feet of people and empty
the air of their voices; behind dark
windows, in dark rooms they cower,
shadows in the shadows of their
lives. Take away the light and what
is left is gloom, the separation of your
self but the black reflection in a
dark pool under the autumn's
long withering enduring.
17.04.2025
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