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WYCH
HAZEL
on
the planet Terror
Her
chiffon scarf quiffed stiffly under the jib in the salt spray as the sea
flashed by like polished pewter.
There
was an inclination in the upper sky towards the anthems of Debussy’s Sirčnes,
the distant contralto aahs rising and falling and vanishing on their
way in sudden lathers of strings and horn.
The
islands were slowly materialising like bruises above the morning
ectoplasm of the horizon.
She
had met the need these lands, these seas, had had of her.
...
(For full text see
the Kindle ebook The
Nature of Things (Collected Poems) by Alan Marshfield)
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of page |
