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Amelia
Fielden
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that solo hawk
circling swooping circling in gritty winds of urban ugliness what can sustain it my short bright day becomes a night too long . . . lying awake in a rain-wet world, pillowed on rice husks remembered dreams wrapped in silk squares to stow away in a secret drawer for sharing with no-one to new friends I may open my heart, yet we both sense it would be disastrous to do the same with you he loves me he loves his wife he loves me he loves his wife he loves me not
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