by Stuart Quine

loosening the storm crowflight in rain
day's end the shape of the wind in saltmarsh flowers
under stars I stumble home drunken moon
stilled in the bulrushes ruffled tarn
before the flight a discussion of the bardos
stormy night I pour my loneliness into a whisky glass
scrap of blue a perfect day of no importance
"Not yet, not yet" says the tumbling beck
winter's end the dumped suitcase fills with rain
through waving dune grasses a chill wind finds me
long haul the moon arrives with the sea


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