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This poem is taken from PN Review 156, Volume 30 Number 4, March - April 2004.

You Shall Be Returned to the Sea B.H. Fraser
It is the pattern you may expect (following starry things), so
     that we may be exact. The sofa was our crib and I imagined
you on it - all perfect, all ready. Each second planned, kept
     quiet and the travel woke us, the carriage shook and we were
alive `please email me, to tell us to..., right round

the back of', we were lost again and these shall be
     the seasons. Spring warmly welcomed; outside the window
the ploughman busy in his field (fulfilling his task faithfully).
     God is thanked. Summer - at first refreshing (the views of
the seas are wonderful, wonderful) but soon clouds gather

and a storm breaks over Brighton - an imported electrical
     one (I think) from the Caribbean: all soft and
sensuous afterwards but in the heat alarming to us and we pray
     together. But soon these same clouds (the ones I wrote to you
about) charged in front: it was quite beautiful, we felt above

them, circulating, travelling by air and not seeming to pass

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