meander

I’ve a hard time casting
a shadow,
the rays don’t recognize my form.

There’s a fever in
my insides,
woolly and overgrown.

There’s no one on this
dull cove,
a bleak palette for a dream.

You’re meandering like
cold water,
can’t stay afloat in your streams.

I’ll plant a tree if you
nurture it,
though your branches are pruned.

There’s no dry-run for
this scene,
I’m unrehearsed for you.

We’ll build a room for
our haunts,
I won’t open the door.

We’ll paint over old
silver linings,
to abide once more.

The rays will recognise
these forms,
fused clay of the earth.

~~~

Hidden Gully‘, Richard Claremont 2016, oil on canvas

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