This poem is taken from PN Review 262, Volume 48 Number 2, November - December 2021.
Three Poems
The Choice
Which way? Which turn?
I wander through the wood.
I stumble and I learn
paths evil and paths good.
A flutter and a murmur,
a moment that might matter,
I’m lost in whisper, rumour,
I’m last to find my feet.
The Island of San Michele
A graveyard should be ripe –
a breathing, winding plot,
with buzzing, foxglove hype,
all gloom of greenest knot.
Not chapel hollow sleep,
or stony sculptured bed,
or sepulchre too deep
...
Which way? Which turn?
I wander through the wood.
I stumble and I learn
paths evil and paths good.
A flutter and a murmur,
a moment that might matter,
I’m lost in whisper, rumour,
I’m last to find my feet.
The Island of San Michele
A graveyard should be ripe –
a breathing, winding plot,
with buzzing, foxglove hype,
all gloom of greenest knot.
Not chapel hollow sleep,
or stony sculptured bed,
or sepulchre too deep
...
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