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i.m.
All Billy Shiel's boats are called 'Glad Tidings'.
The last will ferry me across to Andrew Waterhouse
Where he is writing now, with an upside-down coble
For a home and an office on his own unnoticed Farne.
There, terns' eggs litter stones that are also eggs
Under the millennium party of the northern lights,
Themselves a gigantic lid of the Blinking Eye Bridge.
He'll tell me again what he told me in the Bridge Hotel,
How individual pages of the Lindisfarne Gospels,
If left too near a fire, shrink from it and start
To re-assume the shape of the calves they parted from,
And I know if I ask he'll tell me all their names.
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