This poem is taken from PN Review 36, Volume 10 Number 4, March - April 1984.
The Knot
The knot cuts across however far
You cut back the wood,
A deep engraining. The figure moving there
Is not where your passion centres
But is a likeness of the shape
That itself moves inside you.
Do not hope to get away.
It is with you like the beat of your blood
And in your nearest moment before you sleep
The sigh in the ear
Against the pillow, though you turn
...
You cut back the wood,
A deep engraining. The figure moving there
Is not where your passion centres
But is a likeness of the shape
That itself moves inside you.
Do not hope to get away.
It is with you like the beat of your blood
And in your nearest moment before you sleep
The sigh in the ear
Against the pillow, though you turn
...
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