What I say now
isn't always true.
What's true is you, standing
like some ancient blue and
silver idol under the full moon.
What's true is the blanket
of mist that shrouds the valleys
and damp fields in amethyst
silence at dawn.
What's true is the long, slow sway
of the mid-day ferry between
kelp scented sea and crisp clear sky,
and the first joyous leap when
those elusive dolphins burst from
the wave off the bow.
What's true is the sweet, slightly-musty scent
of faded elegance and the creak
of the stairs under our feet.
No, what I say now
isn't always true.
But what I knew then, was.
(c) 2013, by Hannah Six
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