Just received this:
A rabbit carcass in its stiffened fur.
Gray the cloud-like oaks
Between the high and the low, in this night.
A salamander scuttles across the quiet;
The weight of being born into exile is lifted.
XVI. Laying a Ghost: The Jeannette and the Fram,
The high whites spread over the buried earth.
Cascading snowflakes settle in the pines,
(The face of a Quos’ ego),
Now that you notice it — have just moved past
Whiteness, those pediments that rise
Astonished that you have returned to go:
Yes. You’d want that said, (if you turn
Right, and appears from here to be overcome
Of Boyg of Normandy . . .)
Swaying in unison beneath the snow,
Lucky the bell — still full and deep of throat,
Partly stone, partly the absence of stone,
In a single floral stroke.
Mind boggles. Still, it’s settled my problem – I’m going on holiday to The Boyg of Normandy next year if it’s got all this weird shit going on.
Please press the buttons at the bottom to share the page on your social media profiles and/or check out my books. Thanks!