A Circle Of One

It flows where apples ripen.
Along the way rocks
dissolve mirrors of snow.
It becomes a true cast
of black spaces, dominions
that wake to lost friends,
goodness betrayed over tomatoes.

It delights in tidepools
where starfish stick,
holds the hearse’s wake
in a forever called the sea.
It caresses unwashed
silences, love does, and tracks the
center of the sun
in the furniture of each dark music.

by Richard Bunch

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'It caresses unwashed silences, love does' Rachel Ann Butler