1913: Unpick church doors

Unpick church doors
to let air in – light will
drift as glass colours

see agitated pilgrims
on holy routes?

Here
I’ll watch God’s work

[where bodies turn in
Hamsey’s dug place –
above more spates –
unmentioned in any
estate agent details]

That line to Uckfield
is buried – bedded-in
under pastures – this
bridge flashes arches
writ-redundant – by a
pen in London/

Here
a scrape of tools will
speak up for those in
graves – this was our
route – now inhumed
until called by angels
& [stilly] disentombed
to roll on rusted lines
[we espy iron – veiled
by floodwaters’ loam]

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