I write to you from a dust-borne city,
In chamber of frozed glass, pencil walks.
Plastic grass, grey green, paints scene, eyes gritty,
Sole/Soul, infant, upon ages, lone he talks
In crystal box housed on sea of steel, found:
Whispers around, rummage of faint lovers,
Bustle of Borders broad toned above ground,
In such space of many, yet no other.
In a time of timeless haze, he wades, peers;
To the moon driven sea of is she were
here.
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