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Updated: Jul 20, 2020

My eye is a little scapegoat

running around on the moon

which is rock face,

soft face, anchor of light.

I kneel and

my knees are bathed in light.

I swing and it keens

my tilt and move.

I gasp as the shine

shivers along the back of my hand.

This push-me-pull-me angel

trails its fingers through the tide.

Tracts of darkness dissolve

now ocean’s a box which opens.

© Susan Taylor 2019



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