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Day 13, it’s getting difficult now to find subjects and the words to put together, Angels was hard work, and still fights in my mind. I think there is something here, on the edge of what is written, waiting for the moment to escape. I hope all the other writers out there are doing OK. Keep going, and thanks to all of you who are popping in to say hello as the month goes on.


Four stone angels, pressed down
by the weight of the slab they support,
each looking away from the others
outwards through the trees.

They are dedicated to agony,
somebody else’s agony.
It shows on their faces,
in the stretched sinews
the bunched muscles
in the shadows.

Shouldering the burden of loss for someone,
of the memories with nowhere to go.
Stone cold hands, the nurse crying
in the silence of the hospital,
I never cried until later,
out of sight of others.

The wind changes,
the trees all move together
in the early morning quiet.