So beautiful—God himself quailed at her approach: the long body cur… like the horizon. Why had he made her so? How would it be, she said, leaning towards him, if instead of

With her fingers she turns paint into flowers, with her body flowers into a remembrance of herself. She is at work always, mending the garment

I want you to know how it was, whether the Cross grinds into dust under men’s wheels or shines brigh… as a monument to a new era. There was a church and one man

My father is dead. I who am look at him who is not, as once he went looking for me in the woman who was.

Being unwise enough to have marrie… I never knew when she was not acti… ‘I love you’ she would say; I hea… Sigh. ‘I hate you’; I could never… They were still there. She was lo…

We live in our own world, A world that is too small For you to stoop and enter Even on hands and knees, The adult subterfuge.

I am, as you know, Walter Llywarc… Born in Wales of approved parents… Well goitred, round in the bum, Sure prey of the slow virus Bred in quarries of grey rain.

“Listen, now, verse should be as n… As the small tuber that feeds on m… And grows slowly from obtuse soil To the white flower of immortal be… “Natural, hell! What was it Chauc…

They see you as they see you, A poor farmer with no name, Ploughing cloudward, sowing the wi… With squalls of gulls at the day’s… To me you are Prytherch, the man

There are nights that are so still that I can hear the small owl call… far off and a fox barking miles away. It is then that I lie in the lean hours awake listening