An Oyster Catcher And down by the sea I watch you watch the birds Never no more to hold you In a black lost space Waiting for the fever And down in the creviced rock I run through broken shells Think of the fast feast With my back to the sea The oyster catcher watches close Down on the wettest cliffs Looking for the fattest pipi As your tangling Sand spat feet Climb the tussock home     For You This nightly light makes rooms from ash graves And bird weep the edges of our walking   Here the corners“Rebecca Nash”

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Portrait of a snowy hill All the flowers on all the hills are seared white with snow. Their softness hardened by cold, As breasts standing tall, Breasts touched by a hand, raw and shivering. A real hand, Sharpened by air, Not a warm bedtime hand of memory. And I thought of you, Telling her you loved her because The snow fall was like the sky spewing forth the love it could not hold. And the coldness sets deeper in my heart And the coldness takes the easiness out of my breathing. And the coldness makes my breasts stand hard like“Rebecca Nash”

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