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See her moonlight
bloom from thick forest
leaving the ground
plucking words from the stars
half heather mosses
deep purple wherries
In need of some repair,
six point seven billion
Lovely views of the galaxy,
possible renovation project.
Owners seek exchange
The cold is solid,
hard against thighs,
steel to toe.
In the mirror of the gas fire
my face distorts,
thin, too long.
She had a box full of taffeta, ermine,
shoes made of petals, those of a rose.
Satin, worn thin beneath copper trees,
a deep scarlet hood on a wolfish coat.
I found an autumn necklace in the hedge,
silken threads, strung with tiny beads.
Yet when I touched a strand it fell,
leaving only scattered tears.
Each night I pull threads of birds
shake them loose; unpick the skies
dappled husks of thrush and wren
mulberry silk from blackbird eyes