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Andrew Geary
Poems
Dec 2014
The Abduction of Uncle Moseley
He shrinks to a hush
below purple sky – this air,
soft and beckoning,
carries a mute voice
that teethes at the brain, killing
the pull of his son’s
image. Now two eyes,
paled and tearing, watch the speck
of light grow greater
than the stars. His arms
raise to the light like a babe
grasping for papa.
Written by
Andrew Geary
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