Fiona Zerbst
I look for you in threaded strings
of rivers, or the blast of wind
through rocks; the sober cloud that forms
and darkens so the angels can't
descend. That line of stone and pines
radiating from crumbling clouds
reminds me of the day we spent
close to each other's panting breath
along the path. In losing you,
I've lost whole tracts of land - unfenced
inheritance - and gained the darkness
of this day that presses in
like rain that blots the horseshoe bay.
All I hold is words and shells,
fragments of the lonely moon
whose craters cannot fill themselves.
Featured at The Red Wheelbarrow on 7 June 2022
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