SHADOWS
granular and pitted
caught in a silent backwash
who can hear our whispers
somewhere where there's
a ray of penciled light
and the perfume of gasoline
a man wearing dark glasses
and a pink wig limps by
it's only a disguise
he's really one of us
dreaming of a night
when the tide will rise
to carry him and all our
smothered whispers
far from the sea wall
November 28, 2011
ERIC BASSO, USA
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