Blue
Imagine an afternoon
which bends towards evening
like a long, blue note.
Think of the light
and how it would wash
down the back of the room,
drip along the walls,
collect in pools on the bed.
Now picture my shadow
weaving the pattern of your hands.
First published in Poetry Nottingham.
© 2004 Victoria Lawless
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The Sand Man
I imagine the moon
dictating the line of tide
with a fickle, sidelong glance.
Maybe she rests here,
her lashes fallen sticks
salted with the ocean¹s bitterness.
I collect what she leaves behind,
comb her tangle of surf
around the crescent of the bay.
Placed in the Mirehouse Poetry Competition.
© 2004 Victoria Lawless |