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Zoë Green: a poem

Becoming a Wild Goose

When you are drawn to churchyard shadows more than most

and glimpse above a wishing bone of geese winging north


with cackling song of gale-blown rigging, let your wanting

soar upon a thermal wind in line, becoming something


greater; then crawl into the hedge, the mother bowl

of her nest, curl knees to chest, head to knees – small –  


to sleep, to dream, embalmed in smells of down and moss

since smelling is almost being; and dreaming, let frost


crisp its brittle caul around your skin, slumbering there

in aqueous quiet till dawn when the cowl wherein you curl


to sleep – is breached and grins its smile at waking skies.

Now! Now you sense magnetically how and where to fly.

Zoë Green is a writer based in Thuringia. Her debut pamphlet, Shadow Child, is published by Hedgehog Press later this year; her first collection, Map, Compass, Key will come out next year with Valley Press. She has been published by The London Magazine, Under the Radar, One Hand Clapping and Poetry Salzburg Review.


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