Melting of the Stone
the prisons and the dust storms
slip away,
dissolving out of sight beyond the closing
of the day;
and who alone believed how I could
make it anyway?
or if my tracks would fill with dusk in a
silent shadow-play.
as the city lights come on and
light the dark,
my spirit wanders through the streets
and to the park;
and though my skin is free of scars it
bears the mark,
from the bladed sweep of facts writ
cold and stark.
and as I fall beside the statues
in the rain,
beside the cenotaph that’s dripping
down the drain;
and in the melting of the stone
I can’t explain,
the bloody nature and intent
of love and pain.
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