Amber grain, weathered faces

lined with the long sleep.

They could not love you.

No hope left inside.

An empty hall of strangers.

No meeting of eyes.

They are shredded and ragged.

Torn and fatal.

They are like thorny fields of pot shards

stacked to the end of the sea,

slow and deep,

sunken, like long lost Phoenicians.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s