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This poem is taken from PN Review 129, Volume 26 Number 1, September - October 1999.

In All My Holy Mountain Roger Garfitt


1

Westerly

It begins as a breath

a softness in the air
over the oakwoods

the first dustings of blue

***

brings a sea-change

the luminous shadow
of an Atlantic calm

close faraway light

***

catches the drift of

the stream, the wooded tumps,
rephrasing them in blues

finer than woodsmoke

***

takes the breath away

over the hillfort
in a blue that lifts
...


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