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CLAIRE GASKIN



The dust of success on continuity
If I am real then there is no escape from here

The rose, the canary
down the mine for the
grapevine, is in full bloom

If she doesn't tell her story she doesn't exist
Fear of listening

Morning is a beach on this rock of recollection

The crimes fall from you as you blink

Man plays saxophone
under the bridge. People come
out of the concert hall




More poetry by Clare Gaskin

Thinking of you Neruda