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Buttermere Moon Song
Wendy Heath



When a broken moon goes home
she leaves behind fragments of her light
in strange angles, in twists and turns
over the mountains. Flat stones settle
beneath the lake and in the darkness
of a dream a younger version of a friend
pleads for water.

Meanwhile I receive a recording of you
breathing and swimming.
A tiny camera strapped to your chest
films your hands parting through Buttermere. 
When you dive under to a cloudy generous green
I remember a stethoscope pressed to my abdomen
I'm listening to your heartbeat
                                                         from inside of me. 

Where ever time goes it is linked to water and to sound. 
Once the moon returns no longer scattered.  
The moon's flute is that whole note
a full thing across the land, in our thirst.

Wendy Heath lives in the northeast of England. She is the author of two chapbooks, book of Greta Oak and Radio Lent.

Mark
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©2020 Volume Poetry
Subscribe to our newsletter.
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Submit to our next issue:
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Site design by Nick Fogarty