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This poem is taken from PN Review 259, Volume 47 Number 5, May - June 2021.

Poems Laura Scott

I don’t know who saw you first, I like to think it was me
and maybe it was, but there you suddenly, undeniably were,

the same colour as the earth coming towards us as we stood
in our quartet of black on the edge of that field. A relic

from the old world slipped through into this one, ancient
as tapestry, you coursed the trench between the stubbled crops

and then you stopped and tuned your black-tipped ears to the sky.
When you were still I knew what you were, but when you leapt

into the air, taking off from nothing, shape-shifting in front of us
I didn’t. Handsome hare, for days now you’ve been running

through my head. I’d slip for you and fall into blind devotion
opening myself up like a sail to all the sighs of belief that still cling

to your brown coat if you can do what they say and box
the thought of my love, cold and gone, out of my field of vision.


She found herself thinking of his more and more,

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