SHELVES FOR CLOUDS

Her eyes are closed, and a harbour has moved in, apricot rooftop by rooftop, as though sleep were a place with good transport links. The clock towers show blank white faces; I removed nothing, the hour was already sufficient. Along the quay a measuring tape uncoils towards the water, recording the tide in units it will never need. Above, the sky has slipped into stepped rectangles where the compression lost its grip, and I find those ledges calm, like shelves for clouds. Nothing moves. Stillness renders efficiently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