This poem is taken from PN Review 7, Volume 5 Number 3, April - June 1979.
Two Poems
THE MORNING
I do not know what the mist signifies
When it comes, not swirling,
Gathering itself like briony under my window
The trees stand out of it,
Wading, you might say,
Have their dark tresses trailing in the water
Which began the world.
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