"sunwet" poems
We waded against sunwet grass in August
across the road they exhumed Norman ruins.
Shovels clattered heavy in the turns of a grey birdsoft evening.
An old well plumped in the garden, of string and wax
we made a vessel to lower against its echobrightened
depths.
To win a flash of water sparking bright
in shattered French sailor's sunlight.
Mar 3, 2012
Mar 3, 2012 at 11:33 PM UTC