I remember you, pilgrim

We danced an old man's dance and

cracked the mirrors in heaven

I see you have made martrys of

your pale hands,

a last distraction for your

displacement in my cheap heart

We weep for the eggshells and

the ocean that will not crawl to our feet

I know you, still.

Our souls are the epitomy of armor and


dashing forever the arrows of our youth

It is the hint of rain that

brings me

to you.

We will not forget the trace,

the mark,

the beauty of this forbidden land

pilgrims never do.

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