Lily crowded window her not-breath, mine signs our presence at the glass, | hers and mine, our presence | Blue Milk, the cooling sun plays her opaques, leaf speckles, variegations. Retreat now, She drains into winter’s dark work July-begun. She drains North. Setting to rest yellow-tips brown, Sun-held-once. Something in secret furls, unfurls its stem-self a creamy-gold, lit. © Chris Murray 2020 / 2021
lily crowded window was first published at FormaFluens Journal, April 2021, Editor Tiziana Colusso
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