a disappearance of distant trees vapours menace these static, goblin moors long after cock has called morning. Still, they have adopted me, and in the stillness of ages razored a scraggy, scowl for mask a long lexicon of limbs strung around this heart of moss and stone. yet down we must go, the river and I take our leave of this murky, midway world far from the falcon hinterlands and that eventual, inevitable epiphany at the end of all peregrination now, muffled and watery are our steps now a madhouse tumble to where an otter, splendidly sleek slips her pretty glittery face beneath the shallows.
Re-inventing Hughes’ from his “Bestiary” selection of poetry for Shay’s word garden list prompt
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