we move in silence
the yellowing
age of the roses
continues with the tide

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the night outside
grows colder
he is sitting
listening to the shadows
move from room
to room

there are edges
along the corners
of the narrowing room
where the yellow
light of the lamp
does not touch

he is tracing
his memory
along the curve
of her wrist

outside
the snow falls
in separate time

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