the sun comes up in slow blue in a 5/4 rhythm in my head
the trees still
stand
a bold silhouette black to the morning
all things are a heather silver shade of themselves

In this morning
nothing stirs to break Mother's imposing silence
in this mourning
nothing stirs to break my imposing silence

nothing
except you

you haunt me
phantom
lover
dream
weaver
your essence clings to me
as rose thorns glazed in the forest

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