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how to heal a poet



from seven northern lochs

this water has been fetched

it arrives in a summer cloud

you pour it over my skin

the temperature isn’t gentle

but your hand always is

the pain radiates into my head

reminding me of structures

I shouldn’t have designed

and clots I shouldn’t have bled

and I do

I do understand

it isn’t easy to heal

a poet addicted to sand







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