Poems, 1963-1983
Wake Forest University Press, 1987
The Mountain
This is ravens’ territory, skulls, bones,
The marrow of these boulders supervised
From the upper air: I stand alone here
And seem to gather children about me,
A collection of picnic things, my voice
Filling the district as I call their names.
The Path
With my first step I dislodge the mallards
Whose necks strain over the bog to where
Kittiwakes scrape the waves: then, the circle
Widening, lapwings, curlews, snipe until
I ma left with only one swan to nudge
To the far side of its gradual disdain.
The Strand
I discover, remaindered from yesterday,
Cattle tracks, a sanderling’s tiny trail,
The footprints of the children and my own
Linking the dunes to the water’s edge,
Reducing to sand the dry shells, the toe-
And fingernail parings of the sea.
The Wall
I join all the mean who have squatted here
The lichened side of the dry-stone wall
And notice how smoke from our turf fire
Recalls in the cool air above the lake
Steam from a kettle, a tablecloth and
A table she might already have set.
The Lake
Though it will duplicate at any time
The sheep and cattle that wander there,
For a few minutes every evening
Its surface seems titled to receive
The sun perfectly, the mare and her foal,
The heron, all such special visitors.
