a reflection so forceful at the centre of oneself that it feels sententious: The dim sea glints chill. The white sun is shy.And the skeleton weeds and the never-dryRough, long grasses keep white with frostAt the hilltop by the finger-post;The smoke of the traveller’s-joy is puffedOver hawthorn berry and hazel tuft. I read the sign. … Continue reading "this week’s detritus"
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