Thought by thought
words are welded here
our mother tongue,
turn begin again
Rushing water chances its thumbs
petering gridlock
the motorway is still
folding onto running wind
a copse by chance
a glassy siren
pulsing yellow, brick red
notes
badgering arabesque trees
give way to painterly verde
a scrimmage of
prehensile brushes
make a prose of entwining sky,
an intelligent blur
for your photograph.
Women for moments elapsed
in cars chasing tails
as if
predicting the Cutty Sark,
walking through pitch green
passing food
through fingers by hand
Standing by the night of trees
porous nigh to the welt of sky
a young woman as amassed
as lean
in flickering light her body carved
her face
etched by anger
mute yet visceral.
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