kimberly
out on the frosty old cold fields
serious as worship
for a sunday shepherd flocked by
white mists
rolling up the valley
seas adrift
an extremity of limestone
a belt of rocky ridges
cleaves open an erosion valley
north and south, between which
I see a lion ship
ghosts burning in industry on the hill
survey the factories
at 5am
on the old cold field
if they are heaving lungs of industry
I might well bow -
straining
the arriving stations so early imposes
a monday and an office
for a man transfixed in transcript
white shirt short shrift
white-topped worldviews
the usual
reserve
a land fresh as clean work-ware
stitched in Asian bruises
respiration illnesses
a thicket of mature facts now gather
and cover paper white
my old friends
a night so drained of force rolls down
the coast
Frau
you amble in my sleep
my healthy box
of disabled malice
husband has a cat and God
malignantly few
two valleys
keeping head
precipitously above the sea