the prospect of dreams
dwindling idly
so much smoke gladly
burned
spent offerings
proffered to spirits
unseen uncaring
shaking sudden hours
of time loose
changing loose change
to dreams of its own
so dance this way dear
with your reflection
in my glasses and your breath
on my lips
secrets shared are
no less lasting
and no more distant
than the sweet soft sound
of yes.
douglas brent smith
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