28912 / UK / 2025
breathless, shorn
slept-in meadow
stopped running
its sun-kissed-face
spread-stretcht trellis
that girds basin
of skymouth
blue blushes past
blue-breasted spectres
that carved me of grate
and woe
i cut it out me
to stop a lie
to crop a glowering girl
who never drew
stopped a slow-blueing meadow
out my stony claw