An Inland Scrape of Sea
keep eyes     escaping     
chasing bunting indigo    O    O           
no tremolo of palate      praise tongues
or cord stain in the throat can hunt
so well       as wind song     the body roots        
cannot catch the curve of earth
shivering away from wings     
can hold nothing inside the stone
wall when it flings       direction
down the field's loosed plaits
of weedy knives      to perch   
blue north      bird      or is it wound
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