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This poem is taken from PN Review 158, Volume 30 Number 6, July - August 2004.

Glose: Water and Stone Mary MacRae

I am a woman sixty years old and of no special courage.
Everyday - a little conversation with God, or his envoy

    the tall pine, or the grass-swimming cricket.
Everyday - I study the difference between water and stone.
Everyday - I stare at the world; I push the grass aside

    and stare at the world.
                                                         Mary Oliver, `Work'

As I drive over a body of land on a ribbon
of tarmac west from Fishguard there's a wolf's castle
of rocks against a sky so wide, so unbroken
that I think for an instant of what I bring, scars
where a breast lived, neck held with a pin, seven
(at least) of my nine lives gone. But this damage
may mend - and light in high places is vast
and unfolds, nameless, like something given.
Most like a sexual pang. In my old age:

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