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        A sealed stillness
- only the stream moves,
tremor and furl of water
under dead leaves.

        In silence
the wood declares itself:
angles and arabesques of darkness,
branch, bramble,
tussocks of ghost grass
- under my heel
ice shivers
frail blue as sky
between the runes of trees.

        Far up
rooks, crows
flail home.

Frances Horovitz

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