This poem is taken from PN Review 23, Volume 8 Number 3, January - February 1982.
Summer1 It is so white.
It divides under the snow.
It wakes alone, a sensational pleasure.
2 Supposing this page is a paddock
under snow, or rather supposing
this page is snow
blanketing the paddock
then these lines
must be tracks in the whiteness
...
The page you have requested is restricted to subscribers only. Please enter your username and password and click on 'Continue'.
If you have forgotten your username and password, please enter the email address you used when you joined. Your login details will then be emailed to the address specified.
If you are not a subscriber and would like to enjoy the 286 issues containing over 11,500 poems, articles, reports, interviews and reviews, why not subscribe to the website today?
If you have forgotten your username and password, please enter the email address you used when you joined. Your login details will then be emailed to the address specified.
If you are not a subscriber and would like to enjoy the 286 issues containing over 11,500 poems, articles, reports, interviews and reviews, why not subscribe to the website today?
