Day 16...3

 Nantosuelta


(An ancient Gallic goddess of crows and plenty - I read about her in a guidebook while waiting for a ferry at Calais years ago)


There is the sea, the crossing,

rib boats, a flock landless.

Some unearth a shrine,


dried flowers and a necklace of bones.

I am here,  mine are the scattering crows

and the coming of eve, mine is abundance 


in unlikely forms. The summer sun

on landfill, I am here in the fishreek port,

and in the discarded hills


Mine is the swelter in the heat,

the blue of the sea's edge,

the self and its feathers

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