during the dark hours of sleep it rained. outside vapour hangs from ivy and spiders pulsate on the glinting furze of droplets on their webs. my lungs fill with the proximity to sea water. the freshened west wind, a wall of white ocean foam hidden from the eye. swallows squeal high in the thermals and a gust of water wets my shirt and skin.
after many weeks of preparing the winged moon’s ANCIENT release and creating a new phase of our website i am spent. all the hours that empty the mind of poetry. i have been sitting under the lime tree, resting and filling up again.
if you like me, are stopping for a moment under the shade or in the sun for a read, here are twelve poetry magazines that might inspire.
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