The blue of the end is
miraculous in itself
A dusky mural not unlike
the dawn I drew
but I have painted this one
and it's strangely forgiving.
I look too hard and see
the torch flicker
Backlit, flame licking cloth
suspicious in this weather
and find a ubiquitous calm
humouring me.
Close by, birds titter
in clusters
seemingly aware of my need for the obvious
My shoulders sink
While I unpluck the quills
and I breathe
And I reverse the sails
and I think
that I need to stop thinking.
It's a lonely thirst.
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