Deep in the Silent Forest

in the silent forest,

the sage counts thyme

with the Mary Rose

backwards it flows

towards a moment

in a see, saw, life

that prescience of

a single second,

hanging on a barb

where a face sways

the more demanding

on a ramshackle swing

again, in this life

a game of dice

with so very many losers

past bedtime now

and so to sleep

under duvet cosy

une épave qui reste,

au fond de la mer,

en état de non-flottabilité

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