This place hasn’t
changed.
My space remains
constant
While yours has been
vacuumed
Formless and void.
I bump into traces
drifting around all morning,
Specters of a world
forlorn and lost.
If only they weren’t
real, horrid reminders.
Birds you named continue to fly about,
The handmade beehive
still buzzes,
Fish swim gaily,
trusting your hand
To feed them at the
dimming of day.
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