Sunday, June 23

Haiku LXII - LXVII

‘Dark was the night, cold
was the ground’ the sound in my
bones as the clock goes



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Come here, Rebecca,
(your Sunday morning nipples)
let us start again



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there is nothing in
the dark—just Summer edging
back to her Winter



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Red wine, I love you;
let’s make friends and move to the
middle of nowhere



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though my mum would cry,
I welcome you, your darkness,
and all this no more



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a pineapple; a
coil of rope; a shade of blue;
photographed by her

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