Quiet hours, in the Osadní courtyard, late summer

October 25, 2018

The night is beige -

Pure enough to

Fear its dark smear;

Yellowed by years

And tobacco;

Pink of new flesh

That will age soon.

 

She quivers

But I cannot tell if she is blooming

 

Or just a blur

Of memory

On a grainy

Old photograph.

 

 

 

 

 

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