Union. A Poem by Amy Dwyer

One stone. Two stone. Blood from the Temple
Holy sacrament. I do, do not, don’t. Quasimodo rang
Lace hung. He took his leave
In his 33rd year
Cramped prawn toes, seashell nails,
Down a dust brushed blackboard
Peel apart gold Sunday psalms
Chop the resurrected heart, that cracked open the ground.

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