Empty eyes stare into the horizon
Old photographs flash like still-life memories
Why did no-one ever tell us counting seasons is a luxury
That sometimes they all melt together into a single moment
Past present and future, in a single cold stare
How did flowers once grow on this dry ground?
Things at their end look like the end is all they have ever known
How so dramatically beauty withers
Empty eyes staring into the grim horizon
Dreams of the beholder and those of the beheld
Choked to nothing from staying in the shallow…
Portraits in Letter 
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