At the Free Verse Book Fair in London yesterday, I bought more than I should have, as usual, and began reading this splendid pamphlet on the train home. It's nearly out of print, I believe.
I am digging me. I am swollen spore
swum in the slow tide south
towards the shore, dredged from
the wildflower of the Thameside.
*
I am digging me. I am swollen spore
flooded across the un-drained fields,
stagnant water in molten pools, a roof far gone.
from 'Protean Shifts'
On a shelf above the bar, wine glasses rattle a shimmy....
from 'In My Ears and In My Eyes'
All seeps toward the next hour:
turn of the moon, sun behind the cloud.
from 'Errant'
The house seems to blink--an agony
of hours passes. It uncurls.
*
The branches bend to see the house
bound panther-like into the forest....
*
The house swishes its tail and is gone.
from 'The House of the Dark Woods'
Our way is a smooth pool of open sky
fallen between earth and heavens,
edgeless and drawn by eyes
dusted with night.
We cannot see the distances.
I hear histories spiralling into this new occasion.
from 'For You in the Half-Light'
Batter us long waves.
Batter us wide-throated sea.
Let us find fix in the bite
of the winter wind, dark rain....
from 'At Sea'