we remember the faces
the eyes
the voices
the gleam of silk
of metal
a spark of fire
in my youngest of days i remember
the shape of that hill
of that sea.
the murmuring stir of that crowd
their eyes huddled
their whispers disjointed.
embers and ashes skip on the wind
from house to house they sew
from tree to tree they weave
a maddening shroud
dancing in the street they swirl
scarves and dresses and sleeves and hair
fluttering in the air
with every turn they rise
with every turn they fall
with every turn they fall
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