Easter Sunday Brazil

 

 

 

 

 

Each morning they re- hang the sky

early, before sunrise; it moves to left or right

and  I look hard to see the gap

 

between here and heaven.

 

The sea returns and returns

sprayed black and illuminates

the swimmers, white in the moonlight.

 

You have your moments; we talk

in broken phrases, as time passes

erratically culling the silence.

 

The girls hover like angels their

skin sweet and multi – coloured

I watch you sniff their fragments,

 

You lie sanctified by dream

a hedonistic sprawl of boy limbs

and soft fur waxed into pillow.

 

We will have to call love another name

suspended in this middle ground we jostle

for significance,

 

find it lacking.

 

 

 

 

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