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On Foot

Who is this, or what, whose weightless Shadow, walking, runs ahead, then Trails, on the asphalt, grass, concrete, Now this gravel I press underfoot? Who and what?…

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Birdsong

It’s about this time of the morning - As now - the blackbirds and The thrushes start their songs: And one, I see, a thrush, sits High…

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Travel: A Poem

The birds that traverse the garden – Emerging to sight above the hedge, The silvery magnolia tree, the rose Branches splayed against the sky – From east…

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Made in Italy: A Poem

There is this room. There are the paintings, Family photographs standing in their frames, Sofas, cushions – books, magazines, coasters On the table – the little Italian…

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