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It happened when you took a picture of people in a
Room, and suddenly I started moving on the photograph.
It came about, when in the rush of a street, amid a
Rolling crowd, you laid your eyes for me to stumble over. Now
I stay there by your helpless eyes flaming on the asphalt.
I can't move. My image on your picture moves and speaks to you.
But that's a frightening ghost -- it lacks what has made you chase me,
Though you cannot see this for your eyes are left behind, in soot.
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