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The Fell of Day

Victoria Field

Jan 01 2012

1 mins

after Hopkins

Yes, I’ve spent black hours fretting
but today, I slipped into my car,
drove to Port Quinn’s turquoise
triangle of luminous sea, its curves

and crevasses of a coast unafraid
of complexity, down lanes
that have no passing places,
yet, we passed nevertheless,

through tunnels of flickering
mustard, bright splodges of mallow,
grass dense and smooth, lifting
like the girl’s hair in the breeze.

She was mending a broken wall
in the sunshine, smiled hello—
yes, I’ve tasted bitterness
and sour self-loathing

but today, I slipped into my car
 

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