The lines

I’ve rummaged through the lines
every old word monstrously arrayed around me
memories smiling before sunset and signs
of an insubstantial pageant faded and folded
into air… into air… into little shrines
to a little heart heartlessly shaped
by imagination? reality? yesterday? All lines
disappear the harbor of your phantoms
—now no hiding among the lines
—no half-smiles before vespertine signs
—only unkind shrines made mine by time

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