11/12 Altitude: 27m

And hope is jest
 on flooded tar -
 these hollow pools,
 they will not drain
. She fights her feet
 in shallow streams, 
outwaits her will
 with sturdy blame
. She stacks her pots
 against the wall -
 makes tidy lines
 in equal files – each month a loss 
of reckless gain, knows off by heart her olive wane

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