Burners medieval dark mud on a road a dark morning, falling back through memories a faint pain, dark uphill way the usual alone and gravel picking my step out where nothing, out hoping, hope sinking, slope rising, that dark colour, almost rain, a thing impending, how to get home the perfect lamplight from which out where nothing though I can almost taste it oh yes today, if today is your example today I could get back the cold slope just a foil the drear rain almost Brontë but one day no, one day that dark mud is the whole rigging the entire arrangement every north south sideways song pleading past the end of the soundtrack and then we’ll see and then we’ll spend, then we’ll be the burners
Go snow woke me, light soaking out of snow straying up from lawns hedges caves coves pawing in through blinds through eyelids like a strain on the night, the night could not bear this strain I am here in my white shell I said Here I am I went out to help the night, no that’s not how it was go again, go nightingale, sometimes starting up from sleep lost from you is all one piece with the night itself that thing desolate stretched roving in it as if childhood came back deep in tides or a dream of a face turned away. I thought it was a deer. I thought you would outlive me
Raw nothing I knew was of any use with you one day you climbed in the kitchen window poured raw rubies out on the table from a drawstring bag at your hip They look fake count on me to say the wrong no point comparing earthly, you could always pull out a girl a wound a shatter a bud to be nipped in the doom I wasn’t half and when you left I sat at the table in my life. I sat at the table in my life
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