Third Act
At a dawdling tempo
we became this scant thing;
drifting further from days
when clocks went unnoticed,
dreaming in colour – far flung
like hopeful fishing nets.
We tore up the stars,
revelled in dark strings
moaning under night’s cover;
their sad arabesques
falling in madcap waves
– drowning us in song.
And your face turning slow;
like Muddy Waters in mourning.
©️ Orion Foote
Visions of Orion Poetry 