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                                                   no hat

                                   a long winter
            we had of it but then out from a glade we had
                      bluebells before gorse flower
                      and the welcome breeze
                                   of birdcall
                                   and wet

                                   rising up
            out of the small vale a patchwork of illuminated greynesses
                      sprinkled chalk dust over
                      the new-leaf trees certain
                                   there was
                                   a corner
                                   to turn





Ashdown Forest wormhole: clouds
blue wormhole: 1963
breeze wormhole: sounds // suddenly / stop
clouds wormhole: letter 080514
green wormhole: the poppies / of van Gogh
grey & trees wormhole: I find / you find your bones / on the outbreath
leaves wormhole: … sshhh
Spring wormhole: tag cloud poem IV – C
walking wormhole: the Buddha head in an antique shop
Winter wormhole: across the room / through the patio doors / through the conservatory windows / at the bottom of the garden / the still bifurcated trunk of / the oak / before the let-grown hair and fringes / of the fir tree / blown every lifetime in a while by the winter sun // actually
yellow wormhole: ‘“ruddy crows!” / said my Dad …’