the days start to blend together
and then the hermit wakes
turning over stones
until the pile covers his eyes
twitching with the cold looking down
about twelve feet doesn’t remember
what day it is no
then whenever still looking down
with some sort of prayer
all the sounds make him lonely
he wants to talk to someone else
no use speaking of it when no one
else is here to hear no one
ever knows what to say
could it have ever been there
if it was gone in a flash and
then back only half as bright…
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