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A lifetime is barely enough to notice
colour veining stone; striated years leech
into vision, pocking in highlights
that punctuate an unrevealed epic.

Darks and greys line, bowed. Arrested
by a sermon on the sea, imagination
winds round the thread of their minimal
movements; odd heads bow like black buoys.

And that girl who is leaving the funeral early
has nowhere to go but into her life.
Unexpected porch-light widens her dry eyes.
She has prayed her life into her reddened cheeks.