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ghosts (Remove filter)

Burning

English summers, often damp, can invoke long stifling twilights

Nothing landbound needlessly moves

Contrails crayon across the sky

So many, this close to London’s hub

Distantly, the buzz of a low plane, pleasure rider reaching up

Into the realm of the starlings as they sussurate

A car comes past in the lane droning away round the curves

Here the runway cross remains

The old...

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poetrysummerghosts

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