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Your visible world is a sea-cave,
samphire, pale marshland jewelled with salt,
fog denying distance;
in solitude you watch icy rain
sieving away dead weeds,
wait for clouds to rise
from vast inner horizons
& green truths of faith
to grow on the rock.
Crossing earth’s last river
will bring you no terror –
fear is already emptied, and all
fantastic dimensions of the universe
merely a dilapidated hut.

Sally Purcell
Collected Poems, Anvil, 2002 page 179

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