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Pools merge on the station floor, concrete, used by the multitudes, half-finished conversations, exchanged glances, last-minute kisses and hastily arranged next meetings.
Part V of Glaciation, sadly the shape of the poem cannot be replicated on here (it ought to be curved at the side until the end of the penultimate stanza)
So then, it’s dead, all gone from me No longer do I see you there No longer will I need you, The tide strides over and Autumn hangs its head, Hollow I leave you breathless