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Monday, August 06, 2012

wish i'd written this poem

Beneath Moonlight

For years I watched
a swell of nightmares galloping
along the garden wall.

My father would come home, untying
a weary bouquet, the smell of
God working his breath.

Hinged moths paused
upon beveled glass, solitude
a hundred waiting matchboxes.

Things have injured me.

All day & now the low night,
the night says it will always be
this way: the violence of nature
enchants its laws.

I’d hold a lamp near the window,
a child who polished saddles & bridles,
wiping blood & froth away
from the work of memory.

Rachel Eliza Griffiths

More work here, including some amazing photographs.

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