on the ridge above mill run
cradled by the leafless oaks
we walk on stairs of clawing roots
beside the falling river wall
under looming iron bones
the wheel is still, but shadows turn
across the swirling deep green pools
on ghosts of men in silent toil
as rocks give up the day’s last warmth
we lie beside the river’s edge
water roars above the whispers
promises dissolve in mist
sun slips beneath the purple ridge
the last light silhouettes the wheel
a world reduced to shades of gray
love drowns beneath the endless rain



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