Sunday, 18 October 2009

30. One Poem

Found Poem
(After R.F. Langley, Journals)

The eleventh tree is the ivy, then
on down through the guelder into the elder,
if Graves is at all to be trusted. Ivy
this morning, in sunlight, at Footherley,
umbels of pale green clubs. Slow wasps crawl there
with folded wings. One
__________________falls backwards and drops
onto a lower leaf. In the track, so
cold that dew is like seawater, and there
is the chilly smell of sweet
____________________rotting.

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