I say her phrases to myself
in my head
or under the shallows of my breath,
restful shapes moving.
The day and ever. The day and ever.
Base Camp. Horizontal sleet. Two small boys
have raised the steel flag of the 20 terminus:
me and Ross Mudie are going up the Hilltown
for the first time ever on our own.
Two days before your death, you wrote / There is not much to report from here.
/ Glasgow, late September and the city I spoke of
/ in another country …
I would not marry into that house.
/ I couldn’t condemn
/ my unconceived children
/ to their strange bloodline:
/ oddly shaped ears, a mad uncle,…
Some one was singing
/ Up a twisty stair,
/ A fragment…
Her watch is posted from the south.
/ Its black box ticks the whole way.
/ The accident happens, the funeral.
/ The flowers fade.
/ Grain in…
Under the gritted lid of winter
/ each ice-puddle’s broken plate
/ cracked to a star. The morning
/ assembling itself into black and white, the…
Sphagnum moss remembers. It recalls
/ the touchdown of each lark that tumbles
/ down upon its surface, the slightness of that weight
kicking pine cones down the street
/ climbing the backyard cherry tree
/ lying in new sheets
/ waking in darkness waking to snow
/ On one face, the cistern built by the Turks,
/ now holding only dust and darkness
/ below its stone vault, where Monemvasía’s