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They gather, ever watching

Ever watchful

Black-winged shadow-figures

Their steps above the ground

Hover like Autumn’s first dropped leaves

Eyes white, life-drained

Hungry for nourishment stare

Blindly without focus

But always sensing

Time’s ceaseless passing

As beneath the artificial semi-glare

Of street lamps built to guide

We trace our passage

In dust and sand

And tide-borne silt

Which settles on our shore,

Patterns drawn shallow

In permenance which lasts

The length of fleeting breath

Above our heads

Words pass unheard from lip to lip

And raven wings cloak the moon

Snuff out its face

A church candle, solitary, caught in the breeze

Of an opening door

Which closes and fades

To darkness once more.

 

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