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First Things

Philip Gross

Never more than a blink away

from first things ... It seems only today


that Washing Machine Dreaming

opened its timeless tracts to me,

its spiral galaxy


expanding at nine hundred revs per minute

like a brisk shake from the One Dog

back from splashing in eternity.


It’s a whorl in the long grass

where a little twister did its pirouette


or the same Dog, in its next-door’s

yappy spaniel form,

turned three times widdershins


with its every ancestor on great savannahs

where it goes to dream

and we are no more


than a smudge of smoke

on the horizon


From The Rialto No 66 (Spring 2009)