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last update:
2nd Jul22

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and in the shop…
collections –
“Man Walking on Water with Tie Askew”,
The High Window;
“Sweet Coffee”
Smiths Knoll





This morning I stepped out into the grey world
of childhood – we wore sweatshirts with our shorts,
climbed the rocks, counted starfish at low tide.
Raccoons in little bandit masks spied from the woods.
I count years, can’t – there’s no time in air
new as day, or orchids along a path, or the hum and buzz.
Something whizzes near, maybe a sparrowhawk.
It was a kind of love, that artless play.
Tail up-tipped balancing on the barrel-rim,
a wren is perched. The feathers on its delicate head
riffle in the world’s breath. Its eye is a bead, liquid
where for a long minute I am swimming.

Margaret Wilmot

published in Poetry Salzburg Review 39, 2022