Cellar
from Summer Grass
It's warm here domestic
waterworks gurgle
the rusty-hearted furnace throbs
slow beats
foetal comfort
there's a cidery sweetness
of barrel apples rotting
sacs of potatoes
sprouting in darkness
and beyond the lozenge window
that frames a plunge of sky
a new moon now
it climbs
as quietly the night
lets fall
a lid
Lord Jesus
am I
trapped
or hid
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