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These poems are rich with nature, attentive to the world around us, but the three I put tabs in go beyond the physical and see a world enchanted.
Animaculture plays with the image of gardening Angels and concludes like this:
“…
The gardening angels prune and propagate
moving in secret through the soul’s acres -
have I called on mine too late?
Whistling, she strolls in from long ago,
And she hands me the rake and hoe -
Your turn, she says; and I feel my wings stir.”
from What Brynach Saw:
“Someone saw angels on this hill.
One of those early saints, the tough
weathered sort with big hands
… rough
jawed and broken-toothed from an old brawl
those nights before he fell in love
with the sky and became a saint.
...”
Deep Song:
“At school, we all sang…
But between puppyfat and agelines
I lost that voice, I lost
all angelic strivings...”
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