Wednesday, August 28, 2002

When the stones arise from their long ages
And red eyed photographs, faded evidence
Of transience, of some lives only trace,
shuffled in the envelopes of memory,
weighted by the stones of childhood sages
And settled by dust upon days of dust,
You will recall we have spoken before.
if you read this poem, if this ink remains
and if the picture still bears a face

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