Underfoot, stone age stones
the colour of bone
and splintered from the earth,
crack and scuttle
over dirt;
a dislocation of sounds
and senses overwhelm
the superfluous,
as the wrists of trees
wave in the wind;
dismembered fingers
run through the brittle hair
of the hedges and undergrowth,
feeling for bald patches
where radiation
has irradiated
the intimated seed;
but none is found, not here,
where ochre leaves fall and sit,
more like a hat than a bandage.
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