Threads bind

the city, weave

memory’s path.

 

Your face lost

in tourist crowd,

year’s flow

 

like muddy river.

 

I’m fossilized in

a myth: image

in glass

 

emanates

time’s

distortion.

 

‘’I’’ become

a stranger:

soul weeps

 

There is no

cleansing,

no panacea

 

to restore

the

obscure.

 

You talk, talk,

talk, dreams

down optic fibre

 

phantom shakes

hidden weft,

grabs at

 

snagged thread:

 

& pulls.