and what of that constant moon,
thigh-white and breast-full?
and the prodigal mariner
adrift in search of sweet olde shores,
vexed by the springs and neaps
of seasonal tides?
our poetry is writ,
shimmering
in their relentless waters.
Sunday 27 June 2010
Wednesday 23 June 2010
Monday 14 June 2010
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