cold war

the boy plays on his own, in water it can’t be helped.

machines work less in cold, sheds and lack of encouragement.

the dream, frost cancelled a while. visitors came, the day proceeded gently with

stops and dictation, who is this?

spring came. each road a picture, slowly staring, visual overload resulting.

i could not breathe

for wondering.

the lime kilns are empty now.

sbm.

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