II Tempo di Menuetto

The books shrink on their stalls, the shop walls crack,
panes begin to stutter,

the pigeons take their leave, foundations shudder,
shuck their own six feet of earth.

The rubble forms –  a rough cartography of our fall –
dust flukes upon the air.

Here, I hold your tongue, its ferric tang, the way
it sets the moon beyond the body.

from Confer (Bloodaxe, 2011), © Ahren Warner 2011, used by permission of the author and the publisher

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