February 7, 2008
There are so many stories
etched into this ground.
There are so many walls that won't make a sound.
There are trees and soil that have consumed it all and yet none speak a word.
Ceilings and railings,
imprinted with touch
invisible now but it's all a rush.
The muffled sounds of
old news and gossip
silently leaking like water from a faucet.
We walk atop the steps
talk amongst the old voices
and touch the hands of strangers from a past we never knew.

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