I like a mouseWhen he’s not in my house,And a ratWhen he goes nibble, nibble, like that.I like a mole; he’s a kind little soul,And a stoatWith a smudge like snow on his throat.I like a shrewWith his nose in the dew,And a hare,For he leaps and runs everywhere;I like a foxWith his little white […]
Silence, the burden of the song,
Resumes where winds have blasted through.
The white fields swell to the dark sky,
The matrix they are frozen to.
You want to look on the lea-side
/ in winter, the swamp thickening
/ like the uterine wall,
/ popping its puffballs
/ and creaming its butterwort,
/ folding in…
/ At the raw end of winter
/ the mountain is half snow, half
/ dun grass. Only when snow
/ moves does it become a hare.