From the Terrace
This evening in Villefranche
clouds stretch the horizon,
slowly mass over the green day.
A moon slips up my left shoulder,
cold, round, beaten gold.
It shines with no shadow.
Darkness pours, trees thicken,
come closer, silent walkers.
A dog barks; only a little wall
keeps us from the field where cows mooch
half-seen, half-white,
and grass sings continuously.
Our terrace is a stage set:
Round its sudden light moths rotate
like tiny engines; as night deepens
moon and stars hold our gaze: this sky
is so close it tells us more
about ourselves than our dreams.
Page(s) 19
magazine list
- Features
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- Agenda
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- Cannon's Mouth, The
- Chroma
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- French Literary Review, The
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- Iota
- Journal, The
- Lamport Court
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- Magma
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- Modern Poetry in Translation
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- North, The
- Oasis
- Obsessed with pipework
- Orbis
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- Paper, The
- Pen Pusher Magazine
- Poetry Cornwall
- Poetry London
- Poetry London (1951)
- Poetry Nation
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- Poetry Salzburg Review
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- Private Tutor
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- Quarto
- Rain Dog
- Reach Poetry
- Review, The
- Rialto, The
- Second Aeon
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- Shearsman
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- South
- Staple
- Strange Faeces
- Tabla Book of New Verse, The
- Thumbscrew
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- Ugly Tree, The
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- Yellow Crane, The