ah yes, what happens there when we're freezing way up here. But that
smoke has wafted in your windows all too often these past few years,
hasn't it.
I really like the physicalness of that aftertaste...
Doug
On 12-Jan-05, at 8:48 PM, Jill Jones wrote:
> we don't see smoke
> but we let it in
> a little, like night
> realised at a window
> its caterwauls and breaks
> in the breeze flaps
>
> so land burns
> and here's the aftertaste
> mixed in coast salt
> as sweat trickles breasts
> and I'm lost for change
> in the morning
>
>
> Jill Jones
> Marrickville, 13 Jan 2005
>
>
Douglas Barbour
Department of English
University of Alberta
Edmonton Alberta T6G 2E5 Canada
(780) 436 3320
http://www.ualberta.ca/~dbarbour/dbhome.htm
The poet is ecstatic, having dreamt of this visit for weeks.
He takes Erato’s face, dribbling and wild, between his hands
and kisses her gently as if she were a runaway teenager.
Diana Hartog
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