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This poem is taken from PN Review 197, Volume 37 Number 3, January - February 2011.

'I reach down one of your books I kept' James McGonigal
Some day it will have to go back –
           och I will return it one day
to another shelf.

Between rust-coloured covers
           the smell of 1950s paper
and an absented look

about this page – as if you’d
           raised your head a minute
to think about what was written.

Descriptions of natural life –
           how water climbs on its own back
to bamboozle rocks in the burn

or leaves and honeysuckle twist
           extravagant knots a passer-by
might brush with his shoulder.

Some day I will turn as if
           to tell you about this –

When did you ever not
           have a view on such matters?

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