Semaphore

wandering down drills
through redshank and nettle
cabbage-whites bobbing, stray
amongst the stalks, sticking
the spade in and heaving
the hoard-clutch, excavated

by the unclamped steam
on the kitchen table, opposite
where you were last year
taters fresh from the pot
in the centre, the semaphore
of Forget-Me-Not

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