After The Green Children (12th century)
Part of arrival is grief.
It was a relief to feel the little sequestered
fire he curated
alight beneath the awful clock.
Stood on the deep pile rug for the hosts,
one great blush beached her
on the edge of a sacred roar –
too tall, too heavy,sweaty,scaly unkempt,
too fingered-and-toed, too there –
on the edge, but always ebbing away
through the gut’s soft
die-back of micro-flora.
keep every burning, foreign thing
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