tree traced
lace
on sea
wave sucked
shells
whisper
wind
drawn on
my back
***
it is
how
we talk
now,
in
meteors
brief
retinal
flames
***
your face
arced
falling
burnt on
shrouded
sea
***
tissue
paper
sky
crumpled
in my
hand
from notes made this year while on Bruny Island, Tasmania
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