By | 1 July 1998

For the first time in my life I didn’t feel
like an empty hayshed leaning down the wind
on top of the last thing you could dignify
by calling a spur beyond which peneplain
and then just plain for as far as I could see
from where I sat near a bale a straggling runt
had pulled apart to find it gone grey all through:
not absolutely sure of my emptiness
as if something in it was working adrift,
and almost unaware of falling behind.

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