“Paper cuts.”
We live by the light of shadows:
Absent figures cut their silhouettes
Behind Act V curtains,
Where paper dolls flirt
In the muted hush
Of a stayquiet breeze;
Pockets full of posies –
Hands linked in mind and material marking boundaries I never knew how to find. (But Embankment was much sweeter when the busker sang that night). The skies fly by as painted scenes,
Fat nimbus accumulating cumulo-witnesses
To our wretched lovelorn dreams;
Where the mushroom-cloudy heads
