The sights you have seen:
revealed in
morning waking
or beneath
accumulated grime.
The tales you have washed away,
testimonies of
the night,
evidences
laundered from
corruption.
by your silent
acquiescence.
In the redemption
of your waters
the dust of
sleeping
has been cleansed
a million times.
Heads
have plunged
beneath your walls,
medicant
irrigation,
bringing back
senses.
Hands
have gripped the
bubbled
salvation of your
bounty.
But you are no
longer ‘clean’,
you have the
scars of age
and the taint of
your grimes.
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