Jonesing for an impression

A white chorus out of focus in a shadowed hallway,
a chanted cadence creeping out of dun but seized-

hymn singing sealed in search of hanged man ferns
beneath an ecstasy and a blurred floor and between

two walls. The mode is mysterious under soft ivory
arched ceilings in three dimensions this is only two,

so which face is blurry and which the sharp invert
so framed. What is done so hazy is but frozen blue.

One late autumn afternoon sings its own silent blues but it was morning too

A brief walk past the now that vanished
under leaves not quite curled to orange

leads to a plaza where cold statues trick
wet eyes by merely sitting. Weird to rush

by at sundown, trying to elide shadows
cast by yourselves statically unchanged

in movement. A whisper says you only
live thrice, a rushing lie turns to stone

on a brief walk, passing the vanished now.