Poisoned by the slow blue light,
Like some minute form of life
On the surface of a pond, the stars
Sink inertly into the depths. At dusk
They return, unnoticed and unregretted-
Like the return of a forgotten sadness.
What sun in us went down and left us open to
lost time, dragged from the invisible,
Glistening in the net of its constellations-
While days relentless flow cools to ash
And distances too vast to comprehend,
Draw slowly closer, like a procession
Of black-shawled women, singing
Their ancient soothing canticles to death.
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