I sit in waiting
A suspended sentry
Who cannot decide
The position of their mortal body
Between the dark and the half-light.
I have devoted a word, an effigy
To my proposed authority
Which I have seen
In the strange colours of pressure and water
A backwashing solemnity
Which makes headlines and documentaries.
I sit in waiting
A mere composition of the times
Where I feel the air with each fibre thicken
And wonder if this is my last exhibition.
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