More About Clouds

entry picture

 

 

 

 

 

If all you can have of Helen Mort are her poems
what do you say? I'm puzzled. 
Do I learn of her or of myself? 

I take the hour's perspiration
gathered into a drip. It tickles me.
I take with gratitude the cooling breeze
that which propels those silver unicorns 
and other fantastic beasts.
For shape-shifting clouds pass
that's a fact. Specific to the day
unless one year and the year after
merge in a head.

All you have of Helen Mort is her poetry
like all you have of the Earth is 
its photo from outer space.

◄ These Days As Ever

Mutualdisappointment ►

Comments

No comments posted yet.

If you wish to post a comment you must login.

This site uses cookies. By continuing to browse, you are agreeing to our use of cookies.

Find out more Hide this message