1415
4.319
16.xi.23
getting
a skyful
or
up
for it
of such song
atonal, too, often
or, as the stave, by mist
a sky in flower
and where prayer catches
cloud fray
sink of seeing
some sudden bright
how bung because we
weight of the book in my head
just looking
a million of us up there
and then the voices of the gone
ours now
how else
the mind fills up
a sky self repairing if let
in the dream
surviving to somewhere else
the yellow springs
or it’s another time
shaky hand to scribble this
time is fire
when window is wall
a day rots out from under us
where all of this sky remains
I surround myself with it
sometimes as if someone were with me
not ever the same cloud twice
nothing is far in my room
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