horde
violence

severe
enough

never to
re-
nounce

weighted,
unravel

…

day light clears heather
frayed fast along track
through spoil

…

in honeysuckle
light

cat piss
woven
slantly

…

black bird thrown back a-
gainst
cold guttering
sky

…

snatch of
sun be-
neath
buzzard
hung
light

…

wind
cracking
black branches
back,

rough gusts,

troughs, slack-

ing off

the moment
we left

The words must have come to me while reading, on the same page, the following that I partly wrote over: ‘To read what flees even from reading.’

What I noted down would doubtless never have existed without the push that Jabes gave.

Creation? Theft? Or, I found it there because I was looking there.

As I was this morning – eight years after last reading the book.

I feel no desire to claim the line, or any of these subsequent to it.

to blind
wind

frantic
gulls

ransack
light

• • •

The room
we are in
is not the same
room for each
of us      here

• • •

But I wonder
how alive
words
can be –

mauled so
for lies,
commerce,
trophy

the ones we love
close – that’s the one thing

you’ve said I’ve taken
& will carry with me.

Not that I agree with it,
but I’ve taken it with me.