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          Poems On Ash Wednesday

The place was full, we nearly didn't make it,
a string of us were let in at the back.

He arrived without fuss, black briefcase straps hanging loose and began with the wind,
how if he'd been asleep he would have missed it
and from then on we were all eyes and ears.

It was about simple things - folding sheets, a fountain pen and then the words held up something and
other scenes flashed past:
the box kite that caught me on the ear, collecting windfalls, it was all there,
nothing grand, words brushing worlds,
another sacramental.


                          When They Leave

The poets have gone
they left in the night while it was raining
I heard them chattering up on the wires
now there are new spaces between the willow branches

last night we were all looking out at the river
the room protruded so there was
water on two sides
and lights strung across the bridge
it was a high tide

and the poets read
two poems each
testimonies to love and other things
someone said they always write about themselves

when they leave the sky is such an empty place