I stood in the dew of a morning not yet burst into noon.
The dawn blighted sight
then cooled into mourning.
Feminine
small
my feet galled.
They crossed
the plains
the mountains
the seas
of bodies
who move
who motion
who make.
They walked this capacity
to the edge of those barren quarters
where the ashes of gods
are sanctified
and scattered.
Faded things.
Once they were kings.
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