July 2007

by Jane Whittle
a sliver of blue land
slipped between sea and sky
the smell of dry earth
wild strawberries tart on the tongue
waiting for thunder
my two young cats
hunting through flickering shade
unwind their stripes
two glasses of wine
and the world is a bowl of sky
a dish of wet leaves
night after night
winding the grandfather clock
so time does not stop
following the bier
through pines and wild violets
the old smell of tears

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