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                                                              I find
                                              you find your bones
                                on the outbreath

                                              when the lift
                and possible float are relinquished
                                              and the spine can straighten
                                                              and resume its work

                                                              C

                                                              then
                                you can let open the windows
                                              – let all the spirits escape –
                                                              and cast eye ear and notice
                over the rooftops with waving trees under the grey sky between bird-flit
                                                              before and
                                                              during the
                                                              next breath

 

 

 

————w(O)rmholes________________________________|—–

being wormhole: the Buddha head in an antique shop
birds wormhole: the en-gentled / end of a wan / writing retreat
breathing & C wormhole: in the middle of silence and heat:
grey wormhole: the declensions of constant possibility throughout times
openness & windows wormhole: 1963
rooftops wormhole: sounds // suddenly / stop
sky wormhole: ‘“ruddy crows!” / said my Dad …’
trees wormhole: a splash of fresh water
wind wormhole: tag cloud poem V – draft-ness

 

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