Dissonance
S Sandra Fowler
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Childlike, I put my hand before my face.
The moment is too gold, it hurts my eyes.
The gesture of your shadow takes my breath.
I walk as if I moved through heavy cloth.
Geese honk dissonance over old tin roofs.
Sunset is borne away on beating wings.
The sound of my name on your mouth is harsh.
Hands chafe the smoking hour into a flame.
Peviously published, 'World Poets Quarterly', China
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