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  • After reading Linda Gregg

    Everywhere on the hills they walk
    and dream. Come to the city of swamp
    mist, dank and sweaty mineral drips
    among the gutters of the baths.
    Come to the flutter of pigeon's wings, the rainbow
    lead of domes and scones smothered
    in clotted cream. Light on the gold stone
    does console me. The bite of a lemon ice
    does console me. I will marvel at the brass
    doorbell or the dolphin knocking on your door.
    Let my eyes caress the sweep of the
    crescents along the slopes, my bones
    ache and somewhere they wish
    to rest forever. Let diamond panes
    of eyes stare back at you, let the pavement
    crack. Let the ley lines speak. Do you hear
    them humming? Quietly but clear?
    We are no stranger to the rain here,
    like willows I may grow my hair
    and spend my time gazing at the
    vulnerable column of his throat.
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