MemoryA Poem by Sel Whiteley
In these dusk fields, umber shares
no reassemblance with shadow, - though the French label them the same - only with the oncoming night. Each house seems jewelled with a sapphire square of swimming pool. And I am out of place as I dream of you again, a memory narrowing that nightmare of my sleep. Always in this land, I almost glimpse you, in the black hair or delicate features of your maternal roots. © 2011 Sel WhiteleyFeatured Review
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Added on April 19, 2011Last Updated on April 19, 2011 Author
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