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Streets of glass which dance

Like ballerinas lost

Within the score

Weave secret circles

From which the silver

Spiral snakes turn cartwheels

Beneath a Summer Sun

Whose ripple kisses tease

And take the willing hands

The mysteries of promises

Which rise up from marsh’s

Sullen waters,

Sixteen hundred years of passage

Duplicitous and true

Like cheek-kiss adieus

From friends we never knew

And gentlemen who tower

Hold hands up to their faces

To cling to their facades

As deep below what they will show

They totter on the biscuit crumbs

Of foundations tended far

Too late

And yet the mirror roads

Still hawk the covenant that we

Wrapped in Romance’s dusty cloak

Still cling dearly to

Like promises once made to children.

 

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