the coats piled on
layered, lacquered leaves
of lives lived long ago
so far passed they
have yet to come
the ashes cling to
the air once was there
dust trickles down
demolished demigods
in late September
gnarled and smooth
the grasping claws
of earthbound towers
whose sap runs thin
the blood of eras
twisted tussle of dance
in the dying afternoon
and under the gluttonous moon
they call, "Friend, come to me!
Wind, blow through me!"
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