with scrawl and surer stroke you paint these eyes
a watercolour blink; with smudge and scratch
the finger of your shadows strains to catch
the stately shivering skin or surface sighs
which swirling through the air are molten ice.

ton peinture sur le peau comme sur la neige.

and if the sinking snow should try to snatch
these colours softly saturate, the bys
and ways of you will see the streams upon
the body set admist your sketches. draw
a deeper breath or slighter sense and gone

with slowing whisper are these symbols. raw
the sands of living. cold is scattered through
your crafting; it is smooth but knows no who.


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