Reaching upwards limes horse-chestnuts airy avenue the sky pristine blue unhindered view to hilly distances I see you see the Spring is mild No fluttering tape in the wind no breat
Nearly nine paces long is my final whitewashed world perhaps nine days left then off, my head that now still thinks and speaks and sees and hears. So near me now the big sleep wait
When I was a child, I saw the stones as flowers – the tears of hope were many-coloured. Red and blue and yellow smiling they blossomed in childhood’s garden. Around my shoulder
