I willed that I wouldn’t
And willed it again
Do distil the moon’s shadow
From séance of pain.
To pluck sovereign
From snuffbox
Under archbishops eye
To be placed in your palm –
You’d complacently cry.
Ask me a three-letter word
I’ll attempt ends with four
From syntax-stripped insignificance
Hearts lent – lapsed no more.
Free from transplantation
Coined phrases, acronyms, chance
We’d seem whole in each archway
And of some greater sense.
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