Continual Visit

From Drop Box

Somehow a wilderness grows. The grasses
are full of small animals, the nights so absolute
you could haul yourself through blackness to the stars
and stream down like a stray god on the meadow.

The lake shifts and startles, a vixen cries from her lair.
The cottage veers and shakes and makes
like a mad thing for the trees. If there is a dog
he is barking now, shocked head pummelling air.

If there are foxes they are running, if the dead
have spilled from their fields they are here now
running headlong into the night. They are lost
and their gods with them, running down the narrow
lanes, leaping into hedgerows and ditches, mingling
with ash branches, rushes, the sleeping machines
   in their sheds.

Sequence continues in The Manchester Review

Click here for the rest of the issue

Comments

World Poems said…
Hi, I would like to invite you to visit this new poetry website, www.world-poems.net

Help us to share your poetry :)
Cecilia said…
Great blog, thanks so much for sharing with the world. Greetings from Argentina.

Marina C. Kohon
andres said…
Hello world! This is an english translation of my spanish poetry book. A poem everyday.

http://onedgeoftime.wordpress.com/
John Kim said…
Nice poem, I can almost feel myself there.
Anonymous said…
Has the Cat Flap been filled with cement?

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