See how this voice scrabbles
over these limestone walls
for dear life;
to the impervious words
that hold buoyant meaning
for the dormant
in thousands?

Swooping and soaring,
or hopelessly forlorn and crying –
one wonders at the breadth and
origin of her adept skill,
shapeshifting so easily
between different guises –

fine sand running through
grasping fingers, but yet
still linked together to the whole
by invisible threads,
even more obscure in notion
than the next

© Zelda Reville


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