East Coast Transit

Past sunset, light is gradual, diffuse through these rooms, working every angle . As I work and pray with the memory of the train making lives different from mine I know not to wonder at piles of paper daubed in charcoal smear mystery doors close on the masters of the canyon watching the rubric of the uninvited guest who disturbs me

as a giant. I seemed pleased to catch you in ripples of red under the baleful eye of thousands then

you whisper : forgive me for breaking my promise


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