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Strings ©

(To "my Feenix", with all my love)

Nat Hall
Sandwick, Shetland

Quiet pictures, bits of our life,
a string of unattached
housed in a box,
folder untouched-
just like a flush,
a suit of cards
left in limbo
between two rocks,
reel in my head
like an echo,
when in darkness
you were my voice,
those strings of words
whispered on stage
one April night.
I felt your breath on my shoulder;
just behind me, you stood
as silent as a cat,
your suave silhouette
under a hat,
my body turned
a marionette lost in
some strings below the light.
Distilling water
into wine,
your confidence became
my blades;
free from the strings
of my own fright,
my Phoenix
flew out
of its

Treasured picture,
this moment stands on
a still frame,
this tattooed heart;
a string of will
to seal our
fate -
it's anchored there,
deep in the stars.

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