This poem is taken from Stand 233, 20(1) March - May 2022.
In Coppice Wood
The pond
black as charcoal.
The pit of it a slick
dark as my cat’s fur.
No coot can streak it.
The murk goes down
to coal
to a scar
to whatever’s left.
Mouldering.
...
black as charcoal.
The pit of it a slick
dark as my cat’s fur.
No coot can streak it.
The murk goes down
to coal
to a scar
to whatever’s left.
Mouldering.
...
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