The Winters and Their Dead

The Winters and their Dead ,
half-remembered names and faces
but to whom
do they belong ?
pale ,
withdrawn ,
forgotten ;
The small town
the jealousies that raged there ,
so very long ago ;
The hidden deeds ,
the buried bones ,
the Blue and Red lights ,
swirling and slashing
a very grey morning ;
Stirring the ghosts
re-opening their wounds ,
probing probing
for a thumbprint ,
a single hair ,
a thread of cloth on a wire ,
amid the Winters
and their Dead.

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