Be kind to her
She is willing to grow complete
Cultured in mourning
She knows perfection is only too close
One bloody perfect moment
After which there is no other

Swept in far descent
Wise Dear Grave
Looking back over her shoulder
A terse text of deflection, depth
Palely visible beneath
Scratch of bang
And splinter of voice
Saying the things we say
And the things we never

With a need deeper than memory
I touch her arm
As she comes down those stairs
Almost crossing the dark plane
The invisible forever wall
That makes an act out of all we do

About ubu507

memory documentation and manipulation
This entry was posted in Poetry and Art, Woman. Bookmark the permalink.

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