Last – Celia McCulloch

In these days of terrible tiredness
I move in and out of sun and shade,

sometimes gliding down a colonnade
along a sun-dried yard
towards a dark nave, cool and hidden.

Sometimes I lie stripped bare,
satisfied by the weight and heat of sun.

In this endless weariness
you’d think I’d sleep, but no.
I read a little, caught in a loop:

the colonnade and dark chapel
the hot sun and my melting skin
the shadows
the sun
the shadow…

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