I wade through this acid city
tracing the ghost print of your steps
you move forward and a reckless wind follows you
never glancing at how the dust swallows your path
you are draped in a blue light, a sadness
too heavy for the fragility of dawn
you move through the slow rot of order
your desire a purple stain, a melancholy
of the Mediterranean or of a lost dance
I am composed like the entropy of statues
or the memory of a flame that never was
we do not know in the displacement of our shadows
how much light we have stolen from the grass