One Word D’elfin

By | 1 August 2010

Where families go to be families, unseen and unseeing
The photograph has all of its teeth,
it’s an elf, a brief elf. The sun makes pale
the over-constructed nose, the wispy hints of vanishings.

It’s an age trap where you look back
and say where did that animal go?
Its tendrilous aspirations and the extra inch of lip.

We pay for it now.
A strange forest goes up and up
and people have not made it to themselves
even after all that running.

The sky has become a pin-prick through the musk
residing over buried enchantments, photographs of air
and the creatures that used to be in them.

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