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This poem is taken from PN Review 32, Volume 9 Number 6, July - August 1983.

Boat Damian Grant
The shingle beach is steep as the inside
of a grey lunar crater. I have come
to walk here with my children in a dream.
The sea below is black as lumps of coal
and wild as fire. At the water's edge
there is an excavated Viking boat
heeled over, spilling silt; the battle-prow
gapes like a death's-head on a pole. My son
...


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