(cut me, i think that i bleed terra cotta silt
drain me i think my lymph
opaque indigo
--i spit lapis bile--)
.
.
.
.
.
there is so much love that you do not know!
so much, love!
truly i cut this planet in half like an apple
for you
i think myself slowly turning to bronze
for you,
that i might be useful
that i might be of value
that you might wish that i should be
buried in your barrow
although i know
you're just a bairn yourself
a little bairn yourself
.
.
.
.
.
i know that it is scary!
i am afraid.
and you
little bairn i know
your fear to be more pungent
you know exactly what it is
that you fear.
you know its
unknowable
face.
have smelled
its frost.
.
.
.
.
.
you would grit to hear me say it
but you are wise with sorrow.
and i am stupid
with love.
.
.
.
.
.
it makes me smile
at chalk skulls.
stare long
at bare nothing,
write
little poems.
"she smiles as one who loves to smile" --sandy denny
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