Posts tagged After Cezanne
After Cezanne

After Cezanne

I saw a bowl of peaches on your desk,
no books, there were no words, no heat,
no candles spilling light. My life
was closed in your still hand,
I moved a finger slow across washed skin,
held fruit in my hands, rain fell soft,
small drops appeared above your lips
and hail hit windows.

First published in Crannóg

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