Title your piece

You said

Faded things need a touch
of colourless grace
and I wondered,
How?

I’m colourless enough
so my touch almost
coloured you, but
Faded things need a touch

and my hands were stained
with hope, with faith
with no trace at all
of colourless grace

It has cut deep, the year
of enduring the echoes
that come with your fading
and I wonder

How have I not lost
my eyes to the clouds here?
To the vanity here.
How?

LARDO

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