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Wetlands

 

What want you here?

Your feet crush heads

Of wild garlic

Break virgin arms

Of temple bluebell

 

I come to shrive

I come to shrive


You let me be

Speechless midstream

Quiet head talk

I lose shape

Lose tongue

See life in limblessness

Decay a feast see

greatness fallen see

in small succulence

hopes of earth

water sky

last and always

seers

copyright © 2017 Christine Cooke
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