This poem is taken from PN Review 114, Volume 23 Number 4, March - April 1997.
from 'Entries on Light'
Sunday. I woke
from a raucous night of
seagulls, shafts of sun
in old bazaars where motes spun
on an abacus for angels.
Do you long
to go back to that childhood
the angels asked
in a grown-up body?
the everlasting blue enquired
as I woke
to skies washed clean of dust
and churchbells.
From the acorn of the blind
such seas came
such tall grave oaks!
Acorn-greys
of the sea, its pennant rocks
...
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