1918
6.92
2.iv.25
how many points of touch?
in the dream
for the rain
a world by turns
tree to sky
the argument runs on
feet planted firmly until tendril wrap
the eye all over day
past crowding up to now
the future telling and telling us gone
dark horsey
a heart to heart
will let heal where
those towards whom love must
perfect storm all over
the landing of the insect craft
a skin beyond till
blow me off
or take the ache
that’s inside out
a headlong rush towards
hope on the cusp
and life departed
these words set down
for a page
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