Beads

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The street is too loud and the old are easily forgotten as they inhabit the ghosts of pavements and are blurred out by traffic damp and rain.

The mortality of branches capped in ice on long forgotten mornings in city parks where we used to sit and read and dream

White beads burn into her skin and remind her that she is still alive

Letting the days go by, let the water hold me down
Letting the days go by, water flowing underground

Into the blue again

 

 

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