Harbor-song

Those golden lights grace
our harbors of memory,
imbued in blue.

Night lampposts diffuse
ephemeral threads, hushed in
chiaroscuro.

Waiting by the road,
listlessly taken by the
nevermore of stars.

*

My peace comes in breaths,
stolen from the cold, ripe air;
dreams dream of dreamers.

My own, slashed, gutted,
fed to monsters of the deep;
to the future, sung.

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