It was dark when you came to me
with tear-stained hands
as though you had been
gathering sorrow like daisies or
sweet marigolds for knotted chains
of grief. We were both tired
and thirsty, dried out by the stars,
and as you touched your fingertips
to my eyelids, I found
I could name you neither friend
nor lover nor brother.

mcconnell1

Photo by Gareth McConnell in a series of long-exposure NY shots

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