A stand-off between grass and moon 
marginalized the perfume of night. 
I was standing to read the graffiti 
written by light and shade. 

The planted kiss, the embrace, the trembling 
legs have bricked in the trapped saint. 
Where were the stars leading you 
for the journey to the end of the bruises? 

Some coarse absence of winged thoughts 
had continued presence. It was blankness 
without emotion, without movement. Can 
you think without the past, without the future? 

Step-by-step the malice, the lie within 
the lie unfolds. Gives a deliberate shock 
of self knowledge. I count the bonfires on 
the hills. Coming up to unfog the sky.

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