St Mary’s Graveyard

Where lands touch,
lie against one another like lovers,
one awaits the arms of death.

Miming psalms
busy worms prepare
a garden of bluebells and red campion.

Flesh is flowers
and food for the blackbird
who carries the riddling worms to his nest

and leaves blown
upon a tempest framing
the delicate faces of wood spirits.

Graves exhale
aged women who whisper
the wisdom of centuries in one slow breath.

When lands touch
and depart from their embrace,
one dies and the other lives.

St Mary's Graveyard from Castle Hill

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