Standings pass on languished days
And shadow Damon’s door.
They pause to check if sights are seen
And seek to know the more.
In troubled past do standings walk
And leave behind in trail
The markings of a well-worn way
Where history prevails.
They form the shapes that lead the charge
Of glancing side-to-side
And curse upon the daily draw
All that they take in stride
The standings form; the standings leave
What they touch – they keep
But tucked behind that shadowed door,
Damon’s fast asleep.