<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
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Snipe<\/strong><\/p>\n Her wet eyes were green as fenland water. then she’d be gone in a clatter of pans, how rain falls, how leaves fall, how there must be <\/p>\n <\/p>\n <\/p>\n Marc Woodward<\/strong> is a musician and poet living in rural Devon. He has been widely published and his\u00a0recent chapbook A Fright of Jays<\/em> is available from Maquette Press. A full collection written in collaboration with well known poet Andy Brown is due out soon.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":" Snipe Her wet eyes were green as fenland water. The twelfth day of August and she could hide alongside you in her crypsis of hair until it seemed that you might step on her – then she’d be gone in a clatter of pans, a flap of arms, a fluster of car […]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":4,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"closed","ping_status":"closed","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"_et_pb_use_builder":"","_et_pb_old_content":"","_et_gb_content_width":"","footnotes":""},"categories":[7],"tags":[],"class_list":["post-14808","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","hentry","category-prose-poetry"],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/inksweatandtears.co.uk\/archive\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/14808","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/inksweatandtears.co.uk\/archive\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/inksweatandtears.co.uk\/archive\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/inksweatandtears.co.uk\/archive\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/4"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/inksweatandtears.co.uk\/archive\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=14808"}],"version-history":[{"count":3,"href":"https:\/\/inksweatandtears.co.uk\/archive\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/14808\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":15167,"href":"https:\/\/inksweatandtears.co.uk\/archive\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/14808\/revisions\/15167"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/inksweatandtears.co.uk\/archive\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=14808"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/inksweatandtears.co.uk\/archive\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=14808"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/inksweatandtears.co.uk\/archive\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=14808"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}
\nThe twelfth day of August and she could hide
\nalongside you in her crypsis of hair
\nuntil it seemed that you might step on her –<\/p>\n
\na flap of arms, a fluster of car keys.
\nI recall her whisper though, even now,
\nwhen she told me in her own thesaurus<\/p>\n
\na reckoning and some great final count.
\nPoor at consolation I took to maths
\nand numbered all the times I made her cry.<\/p>\n