The Stone Nordic Theater
by moonlight is barren,
except for the latest Graffiti
and once in a while a
drifter borrows a night,
soothed by crashing waves
and the hum of the city.

By daylight, the stone
reveals its cold, empty stage,
a webbing of jagged cracks
crumbling from neglect.
The stonewalls hold memories
wrapped in aged grape vines
flowing from crevice to crevice
near a woman dangling her legs
over the edge.

An edge of the mossy wall
overlooking the mighty waters
behind the Nordic theater.
She contemplates choice
with tear streaked cheeks
watching the brewing storm,
the swell of rolling waters
crashing against rocks
wails against stonewalls
echoes through the theater.


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