Stillness Moving
Moon breath crept across
lawns in early space;
singing places stop-started
their warbling shake,
dove through a
wounded step lifetime.
Under far western skies,
you swept me up in finery,
promised the world not as
printed page tone, but in
full-flowering colour; belief
in nothing so much as together.
Placebo for the arsenic gold:
words shifting more fleeting,
stretched thin to bone, cold
in light of crooked day,
with boxes and book carriages
to fill space.
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