Four Thousand Secrets

Veronica Aldous - Poetry and Art

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Four Thousand Secrets

Repository of dreams, lidded like a sewing box
Loveliness of nothingness, that no one wants to hear
Wind soughing in the branches, the way the window

Went jet black as if a mirror made of ink had poured
Itself on night and walked off crying, scraping heels

Friendly, this particular way of sitting
One to one, each turned to solitude but sharing
Air, expectant spaces, the way a feather floats
From a pillow,
Knowing the stand of trees just down the road

Some tea, oh lovely dear?

Moments where everything was exposed like skin
That flaked and shed itself, was damaged and renewed
Warm hands beneath a solemn moon, a kind of tryst

How somewhere there is an envelope
Addressed to me
Still sealed.

Veronica Aldous 2016 All Rights Reserved

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