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Poem: Float 

Float

The book lay intimately open
On my lap. I picked it up
And read:

“The pen slipped and capered on the page,
escorted by ripplings in the atmosphere
like breeze blowing with nothing to blow against.”

Sipping from a handmade
Cup of water, I put the book
Down and stood up.
This fragment of light needed
Writing down. Yes, it had
Already been written, its shape
Determined, but something
Happens when one person so
Esteems another’s words that
She finds it necessary to copy them
Down.

An egg hatches.
Sun rays tumble through the pen.
A new life sits upon
The shoulders of the old.

You garnish the clipping.
A flurry of letters follows
The closing quotation marks.

It could be a poem.

You hope it is not too much,
Nor too little.

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Speaking of Poem

  • A poem by Effy Redman

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