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in the fields
of pale grained dots
in the newspaper screen
in the backgrounds between painted forms
in paddy bedford’s work
diminutively reproduced
(mistakenly on its side)
in the galleries guide
is what I always was
but gradually forgot –
seeing myself
like a far country
glimpsed through a grove –
standing with you
under the native fig by the path
its outstretched limbs shielding
from passers by
a dissolution of tears
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