White is for Innocent

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like inside
a frozen piano
each step shooting cracks to the next key;
you and me against the outside pedal.
We passed in but dared not meddle with what time
and inclement weather
had sheeted.

Then we lay among the fractured
filigree
and it was all white, crisp-coloured
though wiped raw, rime-rotten.
But not for us to see the ill-completed crevices,
beneath ice-gilt the shattered furniture.

With what devices
we had caught the other, each needing!
The separate, solid ivories
heeding our approach at each emotive era;

we only fear a
lessening in intensity.

Never
never go alone!
It’s not nice — breaks bone
in a piano full of ice.

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