When the sun's face is hidden
and the silence falls at noon,
I understand (through the flickering
glance of blue eyes
which became progressively bloodshot
as I stood by and spouted platitudes)
that time does not pass, it lingers.
A single flickering glance
can cast a shadow over a life,
but one day I was shown (on my knees
in a place that smelled of mold
and wilted flowers) that a single,
cross-shaped shadow, cast from a little hill
in a backwater province
of the world's greatest empire,
is somehow the breath
which will wash away my death
so that after I am dust, my flesh will see wonders.
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