It was not a dream
But an empty space
When the sun was high
And Spring late to come
In that space
I found memories of things yet
To come
And a constant whisper
To keep me awake
That place was warm
But my tremor never stopped
As all the departed
Walked by
I did not extend my hand
To wipe their forehead of the dust
Silent walks paint upon
Those who lost their names
But find company
In that empty space
In the secret entrails
Of my days
April 10, 2019
©Vahé A. Kazandjian, 2019
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