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of dark, of Wychwood
by D. Garcia-Wahl
The moment was carpentered that he should be alone
where his confessions trail like the seasons
and the essence of his remorse
is the fullness of its silence
Like a shadow
'less he paces
he is no more than a stain
It is the riddle of conclusion,
It is the obviousness for rebuttal
keeping waves dry to his face
Conjuring images in a bay
just shallow of such depths:
The grave of the way she watches him
with a sin that divides form from flesh
The devouring of her memory
The whisper of her words to water
In a horror the ebb will not denounce
If Heaven cannot promise more of a dream
than promises a dream makes
How can he?
Better to name this lake
as you would this man
Anonymity
and leave it to nightmares
to right themselves
The story of man is man
© 2003 by D. Garcia-Wahl. All rights reserved.
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