Imprints
Like chasms diminish when age extends
as Winter’s sun will wonder dry,
months who once took more than months,
like moths dance light in flame to die.
Sightseers may never stop to think
just whereupon they left their fingerprints,
or imprinted themselves, like ammonites
split secrets under sandstone beaches.
Yet, some learn they are born teachers,
long gone, his past on rumours passed
by hushed susurrus amongst the throng,
tall amongst you in imprint strong,
who filled his head to fill your minds
and toiled candelabra’s black nights.
Took shape, pages turned, words interred
with ploughs overturned, and he heard
her calling in glow worms falling,
his palms out-cupped and crown thorned
frowns formed; he nailed his imprint there.
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