I no one remembers, I, piecemeal, homeless beneath/ The hoarding , my cardboard bed, my newspaper / Covers, my death stare /
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Dead Women in Old Stories Above the hills a starry slate the lights} on the coast a necklace weight of faded-flower yellows moonlight suspends the tides the
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MoreThe Dead Zone North from Kiev, empty roads The light of other summers opens among the pages. In the photograph, your face, fragile as pink shells washed along the beach; the
MoreBeyond St Catherine’s Hill, the long chalice of river sluices through the city, canals Romans cut dividing the Itchen into die-straight races. Surrounding the Cathedral, water meadows; a roe deer grants audience,
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