Graffitee

We speak of our photo of woman
Staring at glass table and beyond.
A landscape about her is memory
The occupancy of a space in time
A twilight reflected in eyes of skin,
A yellow sofa ,a light green pillow,
The newspapers unread in clutter.

Where is a language ,you will ask
A silken print of letters like brush
A wall of murals, a graffitti spread.
She is a language born and raised
To be lost to a breathless infinity,
The last of the birds in migration.
She is wall that stares at beyond
And has the graffitee by all of us.

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