an imaginary song on an imaginary
piano.
The street urchins, however,
could hear his tune.
Claire de lune.
The beaches lay bare-
Stripped clean by disease-
No lovers' clandestine meetings
To hide under the moon.
A barren city that once
Brimmed
With so many men
That God's arms felt burdened-
Life can be heavy.
Imaginary ebbs and imaginary flows-
This music was for the mind,
not the ears;
Just as this disease is for
Bodies,
Not for voices.
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