Archives and links for the work of poet Estill Pollock
Wednesday, 29 October 2014
from Blackwater Quartet, selection 16
The Bell It is a language of remembered forms, the marsh dawn lemon on emerald and the day waiting to be named.
I have woven the shape of the sound from stork tracks in tidal silt and vertical brightness scribbled with windows, along a path wide enough for the wind only, and still I hear you, across the shift of thorns and wild pear, an expectancy.