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Moon People

We drank the calming raindrops

on a wild August night,

in the dark throat of the forest;

his arms around me tight.

The charcoal floor immersed us

as we laid on our clay bed

and children of the soil

span webs around our heads.

We painted without brushes

mixing colours with our minds,

our palettes full of swallowed words

that we've now left behind.

When morning sky was drawn

by grubby hands from far away,

beyond the flame of sunlight

there were smudges of our grey.

Poem: Bryony Davies | Illustration: Gus Møystad


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