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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



quieten head noise


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


copyright © 2024 Christine Cooke
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