Don't know about all this ...
Your hair hangs like
autumn rain
full; bunching down, overgrown
- - -
surprised into love by the songs of a nun,
singing like a mantle of worn rock
in a previous sea.
waltz and blush,
gaping at the absent sky
in the catacombs of a once-convent.
move just so,
so we may stand on the lip
of a wasteland
with clouds, dark as mid-storm
above us...
poem after the dash, adapted from a poem by Katy Didden
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