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Grace at the Edges

(after William Carlos Williams)

 

the pellucid beauty of a book
you never pick up
but looks so delicious
in the morning
at the precise moment
you realise you haven’t
left yourself
even an instant
to scoop up
and so will never bite into
like a fresh plum
when time expands out
to infinity again
on the bus

Go to Richard James Allen's profile to read more poems