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Patricia Helen Wooldridge, Hampshire

Poems on the Buses Exhibition


Can’t believe the heron landing on our house long arrow beak and doubling height of his unfurled neck bones opening in my spine or last night the ash a scaffold for the moon – snowball caught in a web or this morning spider lines guyed to the tree hanging out to weigh a soggy sun or the heron’s pendulous flop on a too-small-tree a would-be-snake sun-streaked reaching until we’re both swallowing the blunt ends of summer.