where



curiousity hides under



leafs of shade



where



i turn around



to hear my name



the quiet lane



of broken bricks



of weeping willows



surrounding it






i hear my name



in icy tones



written in dust



arranged



in bones






they have no shame



these discarded twigs



that bend and brake



like brittle sticks



their creaks and cracks



makes up part of the melody



that echoes down the lane






so haungtingly



and the other part



the droning moans



of drowning souls



rising



fast



from the banks



below






floating in



through



the tangled mist



bleeding into



the cracking bricks






and i wander here



when i'm all alone



when no one



is near



enough to know



the path



i take



to reach this lane



and the end of it



where



i slip away