Silver

 Off-tilt

               You dither

                        The mind’s much like your hair

                                               Short

                                               Silver.

                              Wayward

face whitewashed

with pettles of skin

eyes tucked in

mouth tongue-

                         tied, cratered moon.

 

You speak

and the questions get LOUDER

And I miss the answers

As you miss

Improvisation

birdsong

laughter

 

This is not you

Or the you I start to remember

silver

you edge further

and it is painful to watch each new time.

 

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