Wednesday, 9 August 2017

book ends


my nose in this old book
a seance with every hand 
that held it close
at every fireside lighted
in the dust down gloaming 
  in every nook
  in every strand
  of thought morose
  or drawn delighted 
  booked and roaming
in stares and stares
that rage on the pages 
of where's oh where's
that ache down the ages
entangled in my poem
a very particular duality

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