Stay in the loop and register for email updates about events, competitions and all things poetry.
sign me up
Stay in the loop and register for email updates about events, competitions and all things poetry.
I came to the small peach of a month,
to the bushel of days,
to a cairn of minutes
where time was buried
I came to the September of a second
where trees stood so close together
they looked like the last night of all
I came to the latchkey of the moon,
to the source of rue
No one saw me perched on the wrist of the world,
no one saw me flying to such heights
or knew how long till I came back again,
like crimson returning to god
From The Wolf No 10 (Summer 2005)
Wild with sleep and sleeplessness
I kept losing tables, cities,
trees, churches, palaces, entire countries
Where was Egypt?
How could I have misplaced Poland?
When there was only one table left in the world,
breakfast tried to cheer everyone up –
I lost autumn,
ageless autumn, mislaid winter,
all summer I searched for spring
I stole some shadows from my one remaining forest,
some rain from El Nino
I’d appreciate your help
in snatching an hour of lost light back from the moon and stars,
but I guess that’s not going happen
in my lifetime
So much time has passed. Snow-
flakes fall round lit street lamps.
They’re falling in Glasgow
in 1948.
They’re falling in Norway
in 2004.
Would it be good for me
not to say “so much time”?
Would it be better if
I could say “I’m alive
in 1948
and I remember snow-
flakes falling round street lamps
when I was very young
in 2004”?
Facebook
Twitter