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But who can know who or what

is real? I came to, breathing still,

delicate air; the Dove at the Fountain,

after which this place is named, is still

there; and you too will come to lay

here – in the flesh (if it be your will),

I mean. It’s the sort of place birds love,

and the flowers are as happy as the birds.


14 August 2015

2 thoughts to “hinterland”

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