Though all our traces may be wiped clean just like candles at dawn and you
Little sentry guard, you fall once again through the fissure of night armed with nothing
The dogs that sniff out the lineage of ghosts, listen to them barking, listen to
In some eyes you see the indigo dregs left by twilights as they fade— a
Here are your keepsakes: this mild blight of violets falling uselessly on forgotten days and
