In the dusty haze
of dawn
I was becoming a thing
unknowable.
A fading light
recognizable only
to the sleeping
mouths
of days gone
by.
Eyes of the future
yet to
open.
.
.
.
.
It's all poetry.
It's all poetry.
In the dusty haze
of dawn
I was becoming a thing
unknowable.
A fading light
recognizable only
to the sleeping
mouths
of days gone
by.
Eyes of the future
yet to
open.
.
.
.
.
