(untitled)
Long days lure melancholy,
white-shirted, tiny-fisted,
insubstantial but shattering
ballerinas-in-waiting
flooding the wings as
a deep pirouette drum
whistles from the corner.
You re-enact in my head
on repeat
all smiles words laughter,
memories of joy and faith in
a world that still turns and marries
and soulmates and smooths.
I have given up on
paths and forgetting, I
have confused forgiveness
with resignation.
These are far hours
and classic tears.
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