Paddocks

By | 3 December 2008

Looking out across paddocks I fall
silent. Here is the expanse I wanted
inside myself. I am looking forward
to an unbroken horizon the sun

has disappeared behind. Say, I try
to fly there, opening and closing
a little wingspan of speech, wind-
blown pages from a broken spine.

I try
to fly there, opening and closing
a little wingspan of speech, wind-
blown pages from a broken spine.

Say, I try to say
my first name backwards.
Or call Now by the name Then,
and it does not come.

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