nothing right is left.
blue devotions quietly sink in ink,
in estuaries haunting the swell
and sigh of a lullaby raised beneath
a haloed moon. a pregnant sky moans
against the weight of her labouring
clouds; verses invent blame
on the suspicious hips swayed
by bodies translated in brethren
wind. a gospel of shadows in flight
estrange their own daily devotions in
d minor. poetry writes in this colour.
nothing left is right.