White shoes

Scuffed pale doorways and wandered

Into the grey of a hidden sun, their

Steps treading on the


Dazed, naked,

Bathing in the cold

Cracks of the floor

All my choices congregated in front of me,

Passing each other, unaware

Of me, or

My stillness

“You might have learned a thing or two”

The hinge

On the rusting, crooked door


And nobody heard, under

The rattle of their buried room

“My friend took his life”

And still, the buried room…

We walked on,

Over mocked roots, and violet shade

Spilled onto us —

Myself and I —

Until we knelt and kissed

Le gravier

It was simple


Sous le poids du vent

The End

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