closed eyes

I look into the morning sun

Shut my eyes and see what is left

Scratches and constellations of neon blue

Floating hieroglyphics that blaze,

Then slide out of view

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sun

Your touch changes the seasons

The sun on my skin

Everything begins to unfurl

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unweaving

You see I wove this tapestry for you,

 unpicking every night

what the day made me do.

Each day’s noose I knotted with my hand

Came loose the night you touched upon the land.

And what to do with all those fallen threads?

A lining for an ancient marriage bed.

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dream

If you would wake me from this sleep
Just cast your nets into the deep

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need

This need has teeth

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Borodino

Some single guns in Russian woods, add silence,
Start the merest bone vibration. A cavalry rumoured by a soft earthquake. As I lie to listen, all is quietened by the moss. My man and seventy thousand men become confused in my heart. Very clear is a little water droplet, dazzling in the dawn. And all the tiny creatures crawling towards the morning. Lying pressed on the earth, I listen and am mother to all those dying men. Lovers and sons shed in the unrhythmic boom, spine-grasping song, and then nothing but hoof-clatter on slippery, broken weapons. The night falls very velvet.

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Softly

Four quick incisions to remove her spine. Left hollow for a second, she will sing. But softly slowly.

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snake

You, who are so close,
Speak from one thousand years ago.
Recall our shared rituals and signs,
Begin this cool uncoiling at my spine.
Now I shed my outward skin,
I am left bare animal.
Now I am just beautiful bone.
Eyes closed, waiting.
Mortal, calm.
But then, ignited by an ancient spark,
See how my eyes glow in the dark!

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little bird

That little bird doesn’t want to hear your wild songs. They remind her of when she was free. Every flock that passes her cage, just makes her burrow her head into her muting wing. All those wild cousins spreading seeds of aching joy with their music. Little feather cuts.

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Morning

Each waking up
A feather cut

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