771
Megalong clouds
they have come
a sky's worth
under them a line pale
blue
they are an almost
script
pass right to left
before we wrote
ourselves
and sometimes stood
still to scan
a picture you can live
in
they are the telling of
some seasons
paper laid like a lake
in
plash
we have wings above,
below
and where the script is
crowded
must have been some
plot there
everything under is
scribbled down too
and the eye is a line
when we go on foot
through
draw a line
stop
square a circle
under eternity
think we head in one
direction
we go round and round
read till the blur is
past we can know
until the lights are
out
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