These are the grey days,
The haggard days,
The days of endless rain.
Here tireless winds 
Drive blades of mist into the eyes.
Here voices whisper like straw brooms
On marble floors.

These are the hopeless days
Days found in derision,
Where survival's mind
Survives the present
Crossing lines to cross
To breath in pleasant land
Of spring's flow and new sun.

These are the grey days
Haggard beyond expression
Where images are drawn
Between the hemispheres
Hanging like ghosts
Fading far in flames,
Flames burning deep into memory.

I built my mansion
And you built yours
I finished my work
And you finished yours.
We stood in our yards
Gazing at completion's work
			They are the same
I walked through every room
But there were no beds, 
No medals of valor.
I looked from the windows
There is no garden, no trees, no grass.
I looked from the windows
I looked at your house, your garden
			They are the same.
I call you on the phone.
You call me on the phone.
I am calling you.
I am calling you.
And we know we will never speak.
I wonder alone in the house
I wonder
You wonder alone in your house
You wonder.
			Are we the same?
The sun shines, the rain comes.
The snow falls; the sun shines,
The paint decays, the wood rots.
We step outside; We know the damage
I fix my house; You ignore yours.
			We are the same.
We go inside where foot falls
Sound like hammers on small blocks of wood.
I find my words for you 
Crawling on their hands and knees.
I see you leave your house
Your cape pulled round like shield
Against the grey days, seeking the bridge.
I follow you and hand you my words
Resting in a paper bag.
You look me and say,
"I never knew you."
		We are same.

Upon the darkened path 
I stride
Day comes out crime
Breathing with the lost,
Shooting down stars,
Loveless eyes stare out,
The holes in the dark.

Melody measures the moment;
Tired arms raise for the first.
Sequenced among the many.
Sequenced among the dark.
Who belongs but those
Who belong among
One day	One minute
Rested upon the imagination
Buried behind the clarity.

Woman, your disfigurement
Only marks you among the many.
Many without reason
Many without knowledge
Many sightless witnesses
Pressing ideas among
The others
Pressing love’s lost echoes
Into cubes of doubt.

She ran among the flowers
Catching the tear drops from the petals
Eyes among closure
Ignoring the walls.
Separating the twisting vines
Separating weed from flower
Separating life from others.
This garden, this moment
This idle thought slamming doors,
Doors casting photographic fears
among the garden.

Not this shadow, not this time,
never stopping sleepless sun from beauty.
Fragile cling to fragile
Pray for strong
Her nights of desire
Drowned outside
Her nights of passion

She ran collecting tear drops
from the moon's last fullness
and caught her final thoughts
swimming among the million
swimming inside the mourning.

These are the grey days
The haggard days.
The days inside the void.
Repetitious flames across
Infinities curve,
Curve infinity toward
The hidden day.
Waking among the many
With backs turned
Hoping for the turning
The turning
Before mansions collapse
Before the darkened path appears
Before the petal tears.

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