by Jane Whittle
first up
the lark invisible
as I am
shapes are repeated
under the flow
of continuous waves
a journey
on a lichened rock
as long as it takes
the tide comes in
across a darker shore
gathering gold
tree on a slope
growing away from the wind
again and again
two leaves
to remember
stones have been folded
on bones and old faces
for millions of years
a bone-like stone
as unrepeatable as the sound
of the tide


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