image found here
These streets will never be close to me.
The land is lonely, and the sky is
A dreamy shroud the color of the bloodied stone.
Wind taps on the bones,
The birds gnash with their fangs.
My imprisoned walk desultory from collisions
with revived pillars.
I walk the ghostly cage of felt
Which serves to soothe the birds
Lost in a dream, cumbersome, I grow