Sunday 19 June 2016

Memory


It edges around the corner of my eye
nudging gently
asking me to allow.

I smile and wonder, what next?
What gift? What fantasy? 
What pain to be addressed 
that I have left too long on simmer; 

Until it has boiled dry and burnt the pot;
Until it sings, blackens, roars, cracks;
Until an angel, happening to pass by, hears it;
Until he comes

Edging around the corner of my eye
nudging gently
asking me to allow.

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