for what it is to forget
to live bereft of regret
and watch the sun gently set
thus to wait morning come

..

 there is always that moment
when you say you are a poet
the wings sprout
and your fey nature is revealed

..

 one day manchester will be built
the cranes will take wing
without girders in their beaks

...

 across the valley rain hangs like ghosts
phantom shafted rai...

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