I’ve made my own Museum of / Happiness, which isn’t built of brick / or stone or wood…
Leave, leave your well-loved nest,
/ Late swallow, and fly away.
/ Here is no rest
/ For hollowing heart and wearying wing.
/ Your comrades all have…
Use no names. Roads
/ have been whited out,
My plaid is on my shoulder and my boat is on the shore,
/ And it’s all bye…
The traveller has regrets
/ For the receding shore
/ That with its many nets
/ Has caught, not to restore,
/ The white lights…
As by barren trackway
/ on a mountain crest
/ with view of scree and corrie,
/ ridge and col,
/ a traveller might pause,
/ take bearings, cast
In the depth of winter
/ In the dark of night
/ There was only one house,
/ Only one light.
/ I walked down the…
There’s this life and no hereafter –
/ I’m sure of that
/ but still…
She walks on the charred ground, wings of smoke
/ from the bones of her home rising.
/ ‘Here was, there used to be,…
The trees are in their autumn beauty,
/ The woodland paths are dry,
/ Under the October twilight the water …
I went out to the hazel wood, / Because a fire was in my head, / And cut and peeled…
Her watch is posted from the south.
/ Its black box ticks the whole way.
/ The accident happens, the funeral.
/ The flowers fade.
/ Grain in…