Hurling words around…

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Writing on the Wall
-Peter Cole

We hurl ourselves over
then over again
into the wall
of the invisible,
or walk to where
we think it is
and run our hands
along it as if
it were braille
to a better being—
welling between
all we’re nearing,
now as anger,
now as patter,
now as weather
or someone’s skin,
soon as water—
say, the Aegean,
glaucous above
an abyss within.

Image (c) 2015 S Donaghy

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