Tuesday, 3 June 2014


A peacock feather on the window sill -
not something that was light enough to float,
a crude wooden flute left on the table.
I scanned the room, there wasn’t any note.

But never mind, I still got your meaning
though you had got me miscast for the role;
you could have set whole worlds and cycles spinning
but still I’d not have stepped out at your call.


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