athene noctua

that couldn’t get born like a frog in the throat

then pyjama sickness prescient fever

stitch a coming canal running out of wool

then dye so dull and grey not made the stuffing stains

or you can’t go back candle lit the rosary round your neck

your little grey grasp bonny shadow of her wishes

can I make or could I do something

not swaddled in mauve of the sad world

or let those grow and calmed become

on this landing of your mosses

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