for a dead child
where shall I take these ashes
my urge is to the sea
to the wide norfolk sands
and trudge across the flatness
on a receding tide
so that I might have excuse
to keep you
I will keep you close
to my beating heart
lay down on the wetness
of drying sand
push my head
backwards onto mussel shells
so that I might have excuse
to keep you
and when the tide turns
chasing me to the land
I will find excuse
why I never take you
to the sea
for I am you
and you are me
and one day
we shall be
The Blue Book
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