I consult the tarot
and weigh my loss,
determined,
thinking I shall accept death,
impartially
as a farmer amongst his flock,
with crass ambivalence,
a furrowed brow, narrowing eyes
the unseen weight cradled,
confidently like a newborn
but still its anchor
draws me way way down
to the dark silt of anguish
© Graham Sherwood 10/2015
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