Are icons are falling
as
Personal memories rise
Rain
Trembling in a container
Over
Doing nothing for the past
We are new
We are not sad, we are shells
Nothing counts
The day is long and light
curves
slow around us, into
us, as us
too slow— maybe
Missed, may be
We recite ourselves.
Up, palms grit on the old ground
We don't press our faces down
We convene
(and leave)
It means nothing
Nothing counts
More than now
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