Tuesday, 31 May 2022
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Tuesday, 3 May 2022
Mare Marginis
Was that not it? In our formative years,
Hardly begun when the old men settled
Into wistful jingo (having never had it so good),
Time wove its spell on them, drew its veil,
Washed us all in their cold water tomorrows.
Woodsman
worn by feet neither mine nor yours
through blown and bending grasses.
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