By the placement of my arm

Hello my sir,
how have you been?
I was sat here thinking about you.
Thinking, just like every other day

of how my arm would
drape your knee, hanging
as a curtain, segmenting
your room

blocking out the storms,
the lightning strikers’ pacing,
the dangers of the out doors –
protected from all –
all this by the placement of my arm.

But pause.

The thinking has stopped.
It isn’t your knee.
It isn’t my arm.
The vision replace.
The imagery no more.

So this is life, ephemeral but void –
God’s own magnificence destroyed.


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