Poetry Magazines - The best collection of poetry magazines online - Simon Armitage

              wind sound like
you’re spraying the trees
       keep death
     so far from the mind     still there is
    this sleep the bird
        beats the leaves,     wings and
            frequent settlings

      drink   or what to drink     the head or lively
         disparate eyes, so
                                    hidden for itself
            in the pass, more than me
                           and so I may go fly

                 releasing another smell
                            next door motor
                        the lawn       allow
                     clean growth   that’s
                 the summer is folding behind
                    reef on reef of freshness

               I hear the practice siren of
        noon, Saturday,     such summers, since
              the war     then through time
                      winter, with shut windows

  when was the last girl
                                      on a horse
     intrusion of places
      I remember this good surprise

                      it wasn’t all past yet
                 and a stable partly
             open to the sky   up the street

          near the cliff a
              tree with a bell
               as if some sheep or goat was
          buried among the boughs

              imagination climbs     looks down onto
       the surf of cars hard

            curb of the beacon
                                               along the road
                stores, church-fronts, dark grass