The Song Below the Water

Vines and nettleblooms
by Stygia’s sarcophagi
are vignettes of vanities.
Our lives are wonderful and full
with the lives of the dead
being ever dead in us,
in the earthen floor
and misplaced book.

All waters have an end.
The foam on your beard
drizzle-dazzles down
where the wanderer’s song roams.

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