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the van purred over smooth tar
through tussock and manuka
and you grey and conical
were at our backs
in the beech forest
we stopped at a small bridge
looked down into fast waters
jetting through a rift in a rock ledge
and read the plaque
about the rafters who’d died
one day in the 80s –
it could have been much like this
further on we picnicked in the sun
and started back –
and I saw you through the windscreen
bare, unchanged
and wondered
where you implicated?
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