The clouds are paper
lanterns dim,
the colour of
discarded bone,
the sun has fled,
the world is grim,
the sea has left you
on your own,
the moon is rolling
on its rim,
the atmosphere is
towel-hot,
the sand sucks
underneath your soles,
the night is trapped
within a pot;
but now you understand
it all,
the universe is full
of holes,
and they are broad
as they are tall
and from this dream you never wake —
that space within you
softly tolls
in everything you try
to make.
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