Poetry from Brianna Dawn.

bony hollow glow

where do phantom’s teardrops go?
shadows grope at smokey street lights
stowing away,
glowing, growing, trembling cold
wind’s fingers clutching tightly to the wires
copper, bronze, silver, gold
night creeps, and slows to a stop
but where do phantom’s teardrops go?
icy wind rakes across my face, my
bones bumping around in a chilled meat case,
walking, shoveling,
a trench, a tunnel, making my way
the tears, not rain, but made of snow –
fading fast beneath the lamp’s
bony hollow glow, carving beams of
dusty light, pinching at my blurry eyesight –
i take the paddles and i row
phantom’s teardrops, snowflakes,
elbowing me in the eyes
snow, blinking, i warm it, with my eyes
now melted water, to the phantom’s surprise
i can release his pain, when i cry

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