From the Hill I Climb

I sink deeper

Into the lukewarm

That’s like a loch

Glittering surface

But with steaming pores

Red limbs underneath.

 

A black fly, purpled heather,

A spring of fern all cling

To the discarded slip

On the linoleum floor

That’s littered with footprints

Of clay and earth.

 

My body an isle

Surrounded by water

With floating pine needles

-who are my guests

Pricking me while I sink

Into the drowsy dropsy depths.

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