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my colors the combination
of field plants and hills like veins And
the veining collects into scars
round the centre of the lake in the morning
when chatter chatter come the shakes
shivering oh Blood mother
whispers stay in your place stand
like a pillar put in a word for the child
for me And suddenly all changes gender
and number and God’s frogs
leap about
kerplunk
yes water
it’s good she says but don’t While the owl
still is blind While there are drying sheds
for hay and each of us is through
our own straw dying
upwards