Jennifer Copley
In her garden
He has thrust the sword of silence
into his chest, folded up the starry sky
because his world is ended.
In her garden, he grips the sundial’s horn,
not noticing ink-black droppings adhered to
its face.
He holds it like he held her hand,
kneading the middle finger,
but cannot press it against his lips.
Sunk in the ground, her tea-cup floods with
rain.
Darkness speaks to him cruelly
for the first time.
Page(s) 77
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