8: Who

The icy glaze of your eyes has defrosted and

way back there in the mountains, your pupils lie

I once sat on a boat with you and

thought to myself ( but also you for you were I)  of infinite small waves parting like particles of sand

things were fine .

were you upon precarious wood or somewhere reflected in the poisoned waves?

Is this a painting to which you were omniscient narrator or did I grind up words to feed you?

how many before have lay in those ripples and drowned?

They say the water in the loch is 200 feet deeper than we may see there

were 13 words for you my love

for you it was slow drowning but for

me it was like soaring above the waves. it seemed so still

but so solid as i fell, the truth?




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