1975
6.149
29.v.25
windblown and
birchbent
eclipsed
the eye itself is a map
wrapped for fleece, pinking in
road weaving, midge bitten
in a sheep coloured country
understorm lush
with luck all graze
trace of hair, drawn line
accidents of nest and bone
a weed breath depth
seed and lintel
broken tree upwashed
the body as heat until
pleasure of an instinct met
these are few
and how we’re here
we remain
as cauldron to, as kettle
all this year’s half shore wash
dark of the world is hiding this while
a drift in the ice in time
the sun lies very far
go in and further
under the map
until
the day’s all night as well
no one intended this
it’s stuffing a fish
with a sea with a ship
with the dream of a sailor to drown
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