493
see in this far
past shapes you know
ideas abstract
of oldest tunes
it's how you've come
everything colourless
calls to our winter
things look different
in their depth
chime, chant
all charmed
as in a mist melt
follow the words wherever they go
there could be thrown scraps
ants climb
and who should fly in?
[but everything here is rhetorical]
see how we were dreamt to be
a little forest of writing here
call Christmas
and the lights come on
and all the colour
with every sense still reaching
glorious
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