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Winter, 2022


The groundwork has been excavated,  

the sky turned pale and each raindrop turned to a nail 


Great rolling thunder tears sails, frost gives frigidity a new meaning 

And you’re left wondering if when it rains it hails 

There is always a burial 


It is best  

To not get caught up as dried blood can look like dirt,  

And that goes two ways 

Under the mire I hear rumours there is a field of carnations  


Your silence suggests this isn’t the first you’ve heard  

of white petaled processions  


Naturally I am left wondering  

If those flowers form a path between them, or if the wedding planners got mixed up with the funeral planners 

So now the orchestra outlines a great exit 

I am left wondering  

which diurnal birds gave up their nightgowns in such service 



the wind has cracked apart a trunk or a spine, 


The rain has weighed down your fingers or mine and 


The stars give up their spears and I find them just before daybreak with cupped hands, and haggard prayers and a notion the whole sky might fall in just for calamity’s sake 

There is always a burial 

And, believe me, such spectacles are never kind

Arran is a non-binary, mixed race poet from Kent, their work often deals with natural world and uses it as a lens to understand the human condition – Arran’s first solo pamphlet ‘Flight’, published by Selcouth Station, is about small birds as they are a budding birdwatcher. Arran runs regular poetry night in Margate, and has a masters degree in English Literature

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