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Night-Snow wee song for Sydney Graham The real poem never ends. The blizzard beneath its last footprint is where we search in its memory, the blizzard that is also night as fresh on your face as snow. Night-snow the ultimate a body must weather, body I say, but I mean soul out on the manhole sea where the littoral-minded sail beyond Cape Metaphor to be. And Sydney Coastguard keeps his watch ticking on course for Greenock, with Alfred Wallis at the wheel aboard the good wreck Alba. For who but a blind one can’t see Scotland from Cornwall? – every small hour of the year with the heart in the right direction and a glass to his eye.   In…

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