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Angelpoise

The young man stands a-poised
To show so little through slatted blades
The masking window a-lighting half a day
Is toning down his little voice.

Calm, his palm is clutching home -
Circled eyes see trickled time.
Digression, memory, both are crime -
Death's still action shared alone.

A voice, another links him here;
Confirming love, and then goodbye.
As steel and glass and flesh will fly;
Turns, the anglepoise lamp is near.

- Simon Huggins, 14th September 2001