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UTTER Night drinks salt water from a bucket, draws a sleeve from the sea, spills hand across mouth. Night hands back the bucket to the sailor. Night, blue-shirted, wades arrythmically. Night hurries off uphill. The sky fires up as if to say what Tongue swells against teeth as if to say what The coastline cuts up thick and fortified Giving the time of day, stranger, willing this dawn rain down and utter you. From Utter (Leeds: Peepal Tree, 2013)