There was a time when stone was stone

And a face on the street was a finished face.

Between the Thing, myself and God alone

There was an instant symmetry.

Since you have altered all my world this trinity is twisted:

Stone is not stone

And faces like the fractioned characters in dreams are incomplete

Until in the childs inchoate face

I recognize your exiled eyes.

The soldier climbs the glaring stair leaving your shadow.

Tonight, this torn room sleeps

Beneath the starlight bent by you.

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