no time left in this threadbare hour
flowers ebbing as minutes leak 
through wormholes and the sheer fabric 
of muddled moments and chances 
holy holy when the night falls 
and hymns creep across a blank wall 
shadows of a thin fading faith
rising light brings morning and birds
and for a bright yellow circuit
we forget our buried idols

(Words and images Copyright 2016© by Michael Kallstrom) 

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