October 12

the line of the branch dips in the water, the reflected branch deepens and heightens and downs

a lasso back

reflects down down

the branch has a richer life under the water

yet its not under

– I look down into the sky its trees reaching down up
and feel the need to leap down

– linger of dead sheep
mulled wool sodden in stream floating skull ribs rising

a double bone holds the crook of the source stream source

did it come here to die, to lie in the ooze that is its start?

foraging plastic tubs, corrugated iron, old tanks, plastic bags ruining like copper

held in the belly of the holding lake, a circumference of pooling

willowed, ashed, beeched all lying in and over

glide over the reflected flat of waterwith this sun on the water it is white, tumbled sky but lighter

sky light


flat down

two hawks overhead, two mushrooms orange at my feet, autumned leaves

The souls of sheep slipped into the water, leaving the world to pick the bones


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