Revisitations XV
by Graham Myres

...Don't let this feeling end,
heavens are a legend, the sky a mountain of glass; move beyond.
A touch was souled/sold...
Pure, elaborate...

Realize things, perfect rain,
a smashed voice looking for a face.

...She was beyond anyway

to complete the description would murder be to murder the birds.
Melt their wax...

Cradle your watch, beauty's running out.

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