Where the memory lives
double bladed
silver plated days
Winter snows,
shade or shadow
Falling with the moonlight
Darkness covering its beam
so soon
Formed clay
cooling far too quickly
beckons return to dust
In the gallery
spaces pull
random hours
along the muralled walls
chiseling outlines
in freedom
Hands rest
dreaming
of the stranger who sees
Stranger things
happen every dark day
like today