There's a pointed flame in the saving 

dark, you might've never seen, 

there were many autumn before

this fall, asleep in the city dissolved. 

and we've become an ancient forest,

with no sounds prior to hear, except

if it's an old tire, broken, nagging like

old cassettes, heal in sun of a river light—

pausing, to see the old gallery in brain

tucked away in some blue lights, fairly

but not in the speed of breeze fall, 

I still watch a door, rolling in the darkness 

paving stones that might never bear

an identity, or it dies in the unsung shadow

street, you could never see or didn't bother

to hear the piercing music, barely bearing

the wall so deep, I still watch a wave of 

stimulus crying, wailing in the vain piano 

chords, can you shake it up so hard?

the city dance again in dark, filled with

laughter, pain, lover grains, grief, salt 

in teardrops, so where am I? 

I'm the bearer of what I've seen, 

I'm in the places where I've been. 

— 10th March, 2024.