October rains;
I found a tape-measure
Underneath my pillow.
You placed it underneath
My dreams’ verses
Which revert to dramaturgic
Heathlands and dried,
Harvested high-hung wheat
In faded, yellow sheaves,
Kernels cradling hope
Like a jaundiced newborn
Baby in the arms
Of a nurse’s labours
Which are as wide as heaven,
As firm as a popular truth,
And that is the measure
Of how far our love
Endured and endeavoured
To find one another,
Over the thirteen seas
And under a gabled roof,
A pillow filled with straws
Which fall from the hearts
Of winnowing stars.
Oh my gosh, Nick. This is so beautiful (truly!) in its imagery, tone, and message (and diction that made me drool) and so well-crafted, too. “Winnowing stars…” winnowing was powerful, stars winnowing is profound. This moved me so much, I’m moving it into my all-time favorites. (Insert starry-eyed and heart-eyed emojis) ❤
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Ah thank you so much Laura. And I love that there is a word for blowing through something (wheat) ☺️
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