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IV

I was a cloud, flawed like a piano

You were a bit of film caught in the shutter

Moving in two directions, at two different speeds

 

A young girl’s hand, flat against the water, holds up the sky

 

Mirror pieces strung up in a sharp wind

Lit by streetlight

Hurling towards the brightest moment

 

Standing in the doorway of your small room

Time is a space that fills up with second guesses

A floor I can’t walk across

 

You mouth the words Get To The Point

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