Lee Harwood

born 6 June 1939 / Surrey

The Words

Clouds scattered across the sky       &nbs p;all so far away
and then the space between         this strange 'distance'
What does 'normal' mean, after all?       &nb sp;you move
toward the window       & nbsp;lights marking the headland
and the night becomes a milestone      &nbs p; though
I         the fog rolls up the hill from the sea
in waves the town       &nb sp;desperate?
Whichever way we look       &nb sp;though so much at hand
only held back by obsessions
but 'home' is so long ago       &nbs p;don't cry
the light's a very pale blue       &nb sp;then maybe       &n bsp;the next time too
a faint glimmer across the bay       &nbs p;neither moon
nor stars
and your letter making signs       &n bsp;concerning 'understanding'
and 'the magic tortoise'      &nbs p; what then?       &n bsp;or just tiredness

At each alternative      &n bsp; the colours in the sky
gradually changing      &nbsp ; until you're lulled into believing
you've seen this before       & nbsp;but not quite
The wood-cut of a lone horseman
riding through a deathly countryside      &n bsp; raped

'You're very brave'       & nbsp;I clean the table-top
and you sat in that chair       &n bsp;two red poppies
in the garden below       &n bsp;at dawn
This apparent clumsiness is far from true
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