Confide in the darkness that inspires
Like death. Breath whitens the winter panes.
In streets below your window, fallen wires
Confide in the darkness that inspires.
Night is vital. Void desires
Return to soil like dead-end lanes.
Confide in the darkness that inspires
Like death. Breath whitens the winter panes.
Steven Heighton
Exile The Literary Quarterly
Vol 18, 1994
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