Red, purple red
Blackened in
failing light
tapering
tapering and somewhat
BLEACHED towards
lower Petroleum colour
green, stem colour
I hold her, contemplate
Red like slow heavy
waves, liquid swelling
There must be a poem
ready to spill out
It's what I'm thinking of
waiting
Two memories, or false memories
A remembrance of a gaze
in a place
Now detached and sinking
And of Death himself
A swordsman in black
with long slow steps.
3.3.2006
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