Think of it this way: imagine a sea voyage. You have drawn the boat up on the shingle for the night. The water is barely luminous. Someone points into the gloom. On the far hill they are burning crofts. The rain comes on again, but softly, to preserve the sanctity of desecration. You stand watching the reflections tremble upon the water. It’s that sort of colour
Poem by John Glenday.
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