Advancement

Pic Courtesy: © Andrew Nawroski

In a pace to the horizon

the skin of accumulations

has confessed.

It won’t anymore.

Only left to narrate

is an inscribed

on his face page.

It shall wait some more.

At last it hears

the closed lips

of buried red speak

of a crescent;

of a revival.

The child standing on

side pavement watches 

his human 

on clocked wheels

in a highway.

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