Hawthorn: Unsuperstitiously I snapped a hawthorn sprig, And kept it alive in a mug of tap water:
It reminded me of one of his sentences,
Bud clusters, the makings of snow in May,
October sunshine, and a blaze of hardhearted
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Haws on the original Aughawillan hedge.
Proofs
I have locked overnight in my antique Peugeot
At the channel, close to stepping stones, the proofs,
Uncorrected, of my forty years of poetry. What
Would I add to the inventory? A razor shell,
A mermaid's purse, some relic of this windless
Sea-roar-surrounded February quietude?
Horseshoe
I find a rusty horseshoe where skylarks
Rise from the sheepshitty path, God-sparks,
Sound-glints for bridle and bridle hand.
I am the farrier in this townland.