Issue 8


Summer 2013

 

Spring



By now you are the faintest of moons,
all your edges feathered out into grey sky,
unable to hear how I pierced my hand
on a needle you left in the arm of the sofa,
or that the columbines defied the frost,
their burgundy stalks as delicate as veins.

___________________________

Andy S Barritt

 

 

 

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