Member-only story
Masterpiece
From up here
the fine film on the surface
the water boatman skitters
but does not dive
and all is a heady half-syllable
of the pillow wreaths of words that lie below.
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From this ache of a place
this concrete sheath upon the earth
this fuzz in the recording
this busy intersection, this garish sideshow
right up against your eyes and chest
the hand that needs
and wants
and moves so quick between
its touches it cannot feel,
I write with longing.
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I had the masterpiece
in true stillness I saw the star veil
that enshrouds my nape
the collar of velvet that wends into sky
the endless chamber of this breathing
where holy songs and secret truths flit like fireflies
in the midsummer arbour’s tall rushes
numerous as the lower lights
and all around