This poem is taken from PN Review 50, Volume 12 Number 6, July - August 1986.
Rites of PassageComfortable words, framed
in darker times than ours,
are ruined archways,
rusted gates, lych gate
or kissing gate, beaten paths
to love or death
that dwindle out of use.
As our forefathers knew,
their ways are grass
- a by-way their sense of
comfortable, a castle stump
in the marches
that marks where a language
lost its fight. The formless
is given ground.
A name thumbed off the map
...
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