Colma (for that cold fluorescence)
by Nicholas Wright
Such a strange                                           forest of
Back ache                                                    oak trees.
Stripped down to                                       their bones.
Parallel boxes                              in perfect symmetry.
Sticks and                                                    Stones.
Sticks and                                                    Stones.
Satisfactory                                                 numbers.
Bleached white uniforms                          stand rigid.
Sad illuminations,
a cold fluorescence.
Lonely phantoms                                        frozen
Under the                                                ice cube moon.
Sacrificial children                      spill in tides of fog,
In muted gray                              smoke streams.
Shadows                                        without their flames,
And lonely skeletons just want their flesh back.

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