Tuesday, May 21, 2024

a ghost held my hand

        she was warmer than blood

                she was nothing like dust,

        she was fire –

or no, not fire, like

        the sun on red evenings

                she leaned on my shoulder

        and moaned


like the slamming of doors in the wind.

            Cyclone, Cyclone, ripping

                            through the vineyard...”



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