Saturday, 14 December 2013

A poem from a long time ago…


Your name strides
Sculpted on my landscape mind,
Its racing arches rooted firmly
In that host of thoughts
Which we have christened…
Memory –

And wide, vast nothings
Echo round those blocks
Of chiselled retrospect,
And suns set beneath them –

Whilst crescent moons paint blue…
The conscious Memory.

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