If he hadn’t seen her

If she hadn’t ignored

the voice

that roared

If he hadn’t picked up the phone

If she hadn’t written it down

If the sun hadn’t risen

If the stars hadn’t come out

If they had never been introduced

If they had never walked into the same room

If the sky hadn’t been so blue

Or the colour of a sunflower yellow

If the chair hadn’t had so many splinters

of wood

slowly peeling revealing itself

If the window hadn’t been smudged

or the bird been a crow

instead of a sparrow

or the parrot

Which kept repeating in minds

long after their voices had faded

Lines and lines and lines

and images

Digging moulding scarring

Wearing a groove

that went deeper and deeper

If the moon had been square

instead of round

then perhaps

it would never have happened

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