Saturday, 25 September 2010

Poem a day, 25: September 25th 2010

This morning, the air is pure
by which I mean the air
holds no heat
harbours no moisture.
Sounds flail and fall in such air.

And I should like to sieve myself
through this pure air
sprinkling a residue
of webs and half pictures
to decorate the ground behind me.

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