Collected Poems

Collected Poems

Collected Poems

Collected Poems

Excerpt

The wind appears
and disappears
like breath on a mirror
and between the hills
is only cold
that lies
beneath the stones
and in the grass.
The sleeping dog
becomes a
knot of twinging turf.
It was the
spring that left
this rubbish
and these scavengers
for ice to kill--
this old man
wrinkled in
the fear of Hell, the
child that staggers
straight into
the clotting cold
with short fierce cries.

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