Poetry
Autumn 1988
The Silence
As I close my eyes, I can see the village and its plan, askant my line of vision. Tilt this, one melts to its plan; lift, the village is in […]
Poetry
Autumn 1988
The Levels
Past Quaking Houses, on the bull neck of the north Pennines, that has no head, in a flat torn sky, wind circling among hills, like a miner with a wide […]