We are all tired, always tired,
sleepwalking around the edge
of catastrophe, aroused from our dreams
rising from the safety of our shock cocoons,
the smoke of sleep still in our eyes, our skins
paled under the fallen ash, we awake
to the dim light of ruin, the ghosts
of Vesuvius underfoot as we wonder
at one another, reach out towards
the lost dawn, guided only by the sounds
of children we will never meet. 
	





			   

					
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