This quarrelsome land, curbed and pumped . . .Paol Keineg; Boudica
Winter drops here like a stone
cattle slow in low hushed acres
time is measured out like cattle-feed
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time to erect a wall in the heart
to keep in what fire remains
time to nail up the seeing windows
maps will shift and re-shape
themselves in the coming days
water will win, we’ll dissolve
into our bare elements –
some of us won’t wait, will take
the water at face value, and its dark:
let’s face it, when the year goes out
like this there is a flood in us
that is its roaring self, and nothing more.
Fred Johnston