Leon Moon

May 2000 - Rutland
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and through these words
let me strip you wordless
and whatever shapes we
find under the sky will be
faultless. the stream slips
from scope and compass
& seamless wonder drips.

we’re immune to stillness
shroud of time and touch
nor struck by vein or lens
indigestible to the poach
egg of space and silence;
vast as the moment rises
no mouth claim surprises.
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