Too late, they realised they had been | analysing the wrong part of the data, and the pattern they’d construed | from all that | heavenly nature | was insignificant, and then | the summer took them and they changed

A world, afloat | in a bubble of | memory || Lost in the garden’s | undergrowth | an upturned | toy soldier | gamely points his rifle at the empty | sky

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from the series fleeting pixel (series of 1,000 poems, 2012–2016)