At First

you were secret:


a half moon

caught by the ocean

a voice amongst

the rafters


a hidden wing


and pool of light




fluttering jewels

were soon eclipsed


and bitter holes

punctured mealtimes


as loose water


on pale afternoons




still you came

with whispering lips


that burnt words

to charcoal marks


upon my bowed


brow of bone


And so


the leafless land

rinsed its boughs


and love fled

amid the summer flood

running names


into silt and mud.

[Millie Earle-Wright]

Image courtesy of Freya Pellie

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