Is She Always
She was light as a feather
Rather over the moon
Wearing night as a comfort
Bearing stars as her consort
Was somehow audacious
Therein broad afternoon
Lost in cigarette rings and inkstains
Looking at patterns on torn pages
He reread her eyes without seeing
Looking for the human in her being
For her face in mirrors of the rain
And how she left the world in stages
And progressions of never
Sang a note out of tune
She was light as a feather
Poetry by Chaucer Whethers
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Written on 2024-09-25 at 20:08
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