Five Poems

THE QUANTOCKS

Sheep under the beeches: the old dykes
Reflective over centuries, the sheep
Stationary over escaped time.
My nails are ground by biting,
There is no remembrance
Does not taste like aloes.


THE CLOUDS

Nothing, nothing came out of the dark evening.
First the river came, it was not in that.
Then I noticed the sun, falling over the hay-fields,
Behind the mist - or cloud was it? an obscurity -
Plunge westwards.

Fell evening, dragon, Tarasque,
Coming out of yourself, Phoenix,
Self-burning corn, smoke under your thatches:
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