poem index

poet

Michael Redhill

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poem

Ich glaube an Nächte

Watching the garden winter under the moon, 
we think of the brown animals
under the earth. Or the bulbs 
of the jonquils frozen there 
with their orange eyes clenched in coils.
White and silent night, the air cold as iron 
and the lake like an old woman under a blanket. 
We
poem
The gorse-edged trail, the path up through sheep laurel and sedge
by the lake, and then up again through the meadow and remnants
of orchard and mill. Nine-months pregnant, you leaned back 
into shadow under a russet-thick apple tree, then on after that 
to the edge of the pine forest, the signs promising
a