Friday, December 29, 2006



There is an absence in my
rooms, it has erased memories,
voices and laughter;

the tick of the clock kills time,
here where silence is
threatening, and thoughts are
dust on bookshelves.

Unbearable, these rooms,
a converted stable, no aroma
of horses remain; as they were
an illusion, hooves on stones
late at night going home;

yes, there is an absence here
I cannot define, except that
the future has lost the past.

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