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handbag, not fit for any purpose than
delight and design.
while the world is turning there is a small hope to always return home
duck egg blue
the ironmongers in town
at three seventy nine

we can walk there and back or there
and bus back you see
is the little things that excite, even
in the height of summer, low look
for seeds, small flowers studded
in hedgerows.
bird in hand is drawn
rules to guide us
with stars above that have no points
at all
yet each one has a story
you like birds?
as do i
neither of us employed
&  i am vaguely idle
now i beg forgiveness
we are little things
that dance in the mornings
james

in the light from the phone
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