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Adamson Adrift
This piece, over twenty years old, came to me largely in a dream about being a poet.
Adamson Adrift
We sat on the wharf at East Balmain,
where the ferries make the Harbour
never still,
and Robert Adamson floated away
with grace on the violent tide,
as we looked on the streams
of the living
(as in air, we were in motion)
and in action, and relative calm
...Sunday 29th October 2017 2:21 pm
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