Sunday, 13 July 2014

the clumsiness of veronique rough

this clumsy path
whose title you claim
is mammalian shaped, so warm, so soft.

at the end of a picnic
or beginning of a funeral
when outdoor hearts
scratch fear,

I stall.
the presence of your absence
turns all celebration
into a recurring snag.

with amulets and chants
I call you back,
recall, recall,
abruptly at this final cost.
each fall, every doubt
is dipped in code, plated in chance.
What hope is there of landing unlost?


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