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Jane Seeing Stars

April 14, 2016



Midway from grey to greyer, it starts.
Between nimbus skies and running moors –

a crimson gash. Memories curl back like sea
fret, sediments laid down in marl and peat

and millstone grit. Her amber spirit sealed alive.
Glittering, not bitter. A fighter, stares down

her betters, knows her own worth. No field mouse –
more kestrel and ruffled feathers. But beneath

this tussock heath, tectonic ripples – Jamaican
heat seeps clints and grykes, sheers til death do

us part – Hurricane Bertha whipped by the wide
Sargasso Sea. Yes reader, she married him – but not

at first shot when her luck was too sudden to hold.
No, much later. Much richer and wiser, when

she knew blindness for all its faulty worth.

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