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Grey Sparrow Journal

Issue 30, July 31, 2017
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At Bunhill Fields

 

By late morning, I could hear

the screams of children at play

 

under a flourishing sky of navigable blue.

Before Blake's headstone

 

a discarded daffodil

dying near the green railings

 

safeguarded from the roadworks

and blown litter by the corporation.

 

Here, witnesses gathered

for a funeral

 

as a fifteen year old girl

was laid to rest,

 

the surviving trees and the forgotten graves

listened for the steps

 

on dry paving stones,

the high-rise sunshine

 

on the faces of flats and offices,

the occupied fingers of stone

 

which point towards

the growth of an unsettled eternity.

 

                                 -Byron Beynon