simonhlilly

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EASTER SATURDAY

This morning slapped crisp
Across our cheeks,
Becomes yolk
And sunlit yellow.

White muslin, a swathed sky
Thinly veils moon and stars,
A cloak of promises,
A tingled, warm breath.

Forgetting darkness, torchless,
Clad in lightness,
We float seawards
Dreaming of long days:
The roundness of a peace
Pregnant with belonging.

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