We walk the abandoned canal path,

bodies close in the deepening night,

watching the thousands of tiny lives flickering

in and out of the shadows of trees and brush.

Leaves green beneath a sky more

black than the deepest sea.

A wind that ascends to the treetops, 

cadence of an evening storm to come.

Monsoon season speaks softly over horizon.

Pebbles that once were the mountains of an ancient ocean

press into the flesh of bare feet soles,

threatening and sharp.

Voices whisper, lending weight to spring buds

gently squeezing open beneath multiplying stars.

And the 10pm train sounds out of the dark,

its headlight breaking the calm, setting ablaze

the silent eyes of feeding deer in sprouting corn below.

Your border collapses, disintegrates

Beneath my hardened toes and fingers,

prints left cannot be washed free.

I always knew that we would never be

more than a slow-witted disaster.

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