You kiss the tops of my closed hands, the mottled scarf round, a hand-fasting

Where little triple diamonds sit, it stands like a marriage 

Our walk round the sea brimmed with its longings and its blue remedy 

I am peering into our brief lives like Ægir’s wife and her sea fury

what’s lost is lost 

May the mead of poetry find me still 

I make a new dream for us to take refuge from ...

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