passerby


streetlight,
set backlight
so foreground goes
only
to halo the shape

of,

some whisper,
called in chain
linked dismay

yester mystic memory,
not
forgot,
yet almost, momentarily,
and so,
stood still the spin-

and the two shapes,
stared

one,
sees no face
as the halo,
it darkens-

the other,
likely,
saw clear as though it were day,
eyes,
profiled sighs
and countenance

or so assumed,
said the face that
did not
see

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