This poem is taken from PN Review 41, Volume 11 Number 3, January - February 1985.
StrichenMormond Hill's a shadow; beneath the bridge
the Ugie Water's carried all my childhood twigs away.
This stocky figure casting in mid-stream, pipe
gripped in teeth, is caught himself, hooked by memory.
Deaths, losses, clouds, define our landscape;
shade sharpens detail and with the passing light
we are exiled to the present, where everything
holds its place in nervous balance at the wavering
...
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