Sunday, September 23, 2007


Emily walks on Sun Street
lifting her hems like wings
over the buried setts
her sinking couch far off, velvet and haze,
her scratching panes
her ghost moors
at last resolved
in a late mist
all tourists
laid low by the vastness, the heath
purple Emily
mist in the pathways
quiet in the kissing gate
at the last

fragile as wind
on a flower's
black bridge

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