Beachcombing for the Landlocked
haiku & not haiku
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18/11/2018
. . . nevertheless
you’ve reached sixty
your move, cancer
click to enlarge
afterwards
washes hands in
the glossy darkness
of the rain barrel
waiting for
the bus home
watch a leaf bump
against your boot
she asks the museum guide: what’s the lemon about ?
09/11/2018
after the poets
have wafted past
start shoving autumn
into sacks
a decent likeness
my reflection
in the gallery window
not recognising
the witches
because it was dark
(& they were witches)
not birdsong but the squeak of a barrow’s wheel
robin / a lost word (reappears, gone again)
and suddenly you are someone from the flatlands staring at peaks
opens curtains wipes condensation from the window it’s misty outside
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