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The biggest berries are in the centreof a tunnel of thorny bushes.A shark gaping wide,promising not to nip.
We watch them, hypnotized.Pale and mysterious,They rise and fall. Joe says“They look like ghosts.”
I am in a forest;My brothers will never find me here.Over my head is a green umbrella;I feel the earth under my bare feet.
The seagulls are doing their dance again – Wings clasped to their sides, they stare up the street.Up and down, up and down, go their knobbly pink knees;
I am a crocodile who lost my smile in the turbulent waters of the Nile.When I was very small, trapped inside my crocodile egg,
Teach me the language of Cat;the slow-motion blink, that crystal stare,a tight-lipped purr and a wide-mouthed hiss.Let me walk with a saunter, nose in the air.
We turn our faces up and jiggle thirty toes,Morse-coding longing with our restless beat.When will it come?Shepherds on the first Nativity, we scan the skiesand huddle,