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Wednesday, 5 December 2012

Faraway

I send you a letter
That I love at the time of writing
And then forget
Next day another phrase catches my ear
But let  it not be called an internal rhyme

We talked of the camera obscura
A photograph, a thousand points of view
Through the window, over the valley
One mile more or less from the ford

In summer’s heat perspiration began
The muddled, befuddled mind…
To slow down, or jump in the pool
With or without question

In the letter I hoped for a reply
Did you


Taken from the collection Words in Aspect South Facing - Available from Amazon for Kindle