Memory
lines
I
am up at dawn again
to
the town sleeping
as
the lines trickle from my tongue
to
the quiet gutter dripping
and
I have no love for this town
I
miss the bald mountain
behind
the house of my Mamgu
I
miss the beach walking
and
fires that lit up the cave
the
unconquerable woods
the
look out post
and
the wartime air raid shelters
the
Celtic hill fort
motte
and bailey
and
lime kilns overlooking the sea
where
I hope they bury me
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