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

                        moaned

like the slamming of doors in the wind.


            Cyclone, Cyclone, ripping

                            through the vineyard...”

                                                                        

                                                                                (1992)









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