I am puzzled as the newborn child; i am troubled at the tide.

It is dusk already; I don’t even have your shadow to grasp onto.
Your footprints on sand blown away by the arid wind…yes, it is the parched desert now.
Not the garden where we once ran; ran wild and free with the horses.
No, nowhere in sight is that bounty, nowhere at all. 
There are no horses, no pigeons.
There are scavengers now, all around me, eagles no butterflies anymore.
Yes, there are carcasses…those of love, of the mere hints of it, of unsaid, un-kept promises.



There is another one, on that distant corner, yes, right there, that corpse is of an unkempt me.


"Did I dream you dreamed about me? 
Were you hare when I was fox? 
Now my foolish boat is leaning 
Broken lovelorn on your rocks, 
For you sing, 'touch me not, touch me not, come back tomorrow: 
O my heart, o my heart shies from the sorrow' "
 
-song to the siren, Tim Buckley.

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