Corner of the field by Jan
Carroll

ouija world

A time sketch faintly summoned
from someone else’s dream
lyric in sense memory
the pulse of escape
Trapped inside a buried motive
repelled in jaundiced objects
forgotten figures rewound out of the room
Sometimes fragments of music
fade in and out
Sometimes new blood cells
are heard
Sometimes shadows dance in private temples
commemorating the wombs of the dead
collapsing arc shadow
in shadow

Rarer still
overture of soundproof grief
or sotto
hanging from
crumbled battlement
foretelling the concert of the days

Heralded by leafcurls
I saw the
flowers in
your gardens from
the glare that opened
this gate to let me float out
sometimes the lyre lingered with
me down that path.

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