Under the Ruins
In the quiet moments of passing moons,
when the owl glides obsidian air,
not a heartbeat is heard,
but the thump is sure felt,
as talons grasp its prey on the dunes.
Those left behind are spattered in mourning,
sand, a silver glow smothered in shadows,
many heartbeats are heard,
and their thumping’s sure felt,
by empathic witness under the ruins.
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