Colours always fade
the thoughts that come to me,
but sometimes, when I walk to them,
I forget what I wanted to ask.
The nib touches the white space,
and becomes lighter with each curl
of her hand, strapped with time inverse.
New cloth joined part by part with
gold rust, the garish green, and tight black.
The body of soul cut in the middle, top, and bottom,
button and chain and he walks on, and on,
like an apple not quite cut, his shoes held
by the straw of his sock.
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