This city of aborted dreams takes on
a thick gray pallor as wind picks up.
Its drains plugged, gobs of sludge
will be forced through pipes to the sea…
Night has been jailed in your hair
I am watching
the pupils of your eyes
you are staring to the future
I watch the past
I Am You
Here, for a transitory period, existence questioned sometimes,
I make you seen, an invisible pain killing me.
A carrier of a shapeless me,
silence, a soothing darkness, I weep hard.