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                                that woman, there, striding
                                away from the bench to
                                peer down the road-works
                                to see what they’re up to
                                in her ill-fitting sandals
                                heel lift and flick-in a little
                                with slim calves and Hampshire
                                lope and shuffle
                                with arms dangling hand-lazy
                                off sad-mouth shoulders and
                                shapeless jumper (that she
                                always wears these days) and
                                that mad puffball of grey
                                kept in check only, only by

                                              that woman
                                married-with for thirty two years
                                through accumulating betters
                                and diminishing worses
                                off to cook a meal
                                because she’s got an idea
                                while I rest from the back
                                I pulled doing nothing significant
                                on a long short walk hands held

                I love with all the history and lack of perfections at our command





Carol wormhole: hot summer / morning
doing & identity & life wormhole: the stance of Buscema // qualitatively
feet & walking wormhole: library: start where you are IV // all the distance I have travelled!
grey wormhole: 1963
hair wormhole: [start where you are III] – delve
hands wormhole: “King …”
looking wormhole: Totnes
love wormhole: letters to Mum VI – Years / after you have gone. Still.