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Thursday, 8 December 2016

Shadow Box


A sailor once tied me in knots.

In the middle of the night,

I ease them undone with my pen.

 

A figure eight knot in my neck gently flowers

and becomes a butterfly testing its wings;

that coiled knot in my belly springs undone

like a bean vine uncurling tendrils;

loosen, loosen, here, there; unwind, unbind,

lay me out in arabesques and lovely loops.

 

Too-much-life is a weathered seafarer

practicing his craft.

Leave me be, in my puddles of jute,

the fibres eased and pleased

with their lazy uselessness.

 

 
 

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