WCW had his plumbs. Britain, and Northern Europe, continues to have volcanic plumes. This is getting more Day of the Triffids every hour. Over 100,000 Brits are stranded in the near abroad. Was it just me, or did the streets seem deserted in London today? Anyway, no one is panicking, yet. If this is prolonged, of course, the economy would collapse, and people would go mad. But not yet. My partner is one of those stranded. Eyewear is a bit at sea with all this compromised sky.
A poem for my mother, July 15 When she was dying And I was in a different country I dreamt I was there with her Flying over the ocean very quickly, And arriving in the room like a dream And I was a dream, but the meaning was more Than a dream has – it was a moving over time And land, over water, to get love across Fast enough, to be there, before she died, To lean over the small, huddled figure, In the dark, and without bothering her Even with apologies, and be a kiss in the air, A dream of a kiss, or even less, the thought of one, And when I woke, none of this had happened, She was still far distant, and we had not spoken.
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