at night you see the hands
rise from the heather
somewhere around here let's find out
follow the sounds of water underground there is a shape
that comes over us towards midnight
the radio starts up far off we want to run
keep digging here someone says
here is where they last saw themselves
here where the shape
put your ear to the damp ground you hear
chambers open out into worlds of wetness
under the gurgle of dream tiny voices
we are on a hillside when the dawn crawls in amongst us
we have found nothing we insist
nothing here in the night
in the night these are hands reaching from the moor
no one can hold all of these hands
each of us leaves with loss with the loss
of all hands
having at last excavated nothing
.
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