I am in the bright light of beauty
A fine distant reflection
Of sunlight on still water
Even if I could not actually remember
Or not so much as even be there
I could still imagine, couldn’t I
There would have been a purpose
Of that you can be sure of
Yet it too could be lost on you, forgive me
One part of my story
Is awash and away with the birds
In all sizes, with all shades through to grey
Another past is a cumulus cloud formation
Which presses, formidably
With suggestions of romantic storms
That the fear-of-flying inhabitants have departed
And the dog endlessly barks
Adds to the unease of subsequent thoughts
I choke, and I cough
At my own attachment
To a life being totally non-religious
I wonder to myself
Will the pigeon leave the rooftop
And settle on the diamanté window
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