
This after sunset summer
light is the closest
we can come
to the strangeness of a white
night its borrowed time
in which trees stand
motionless they
go blind without the sun
and on the hill a deer
coughs again
New Times,
New Thinking.
A new poem by Fiona Sampson.
This after sunset summer
light is the closest
we can come
to the strangeness of a white
night its borrowed time
in which trees stand
motionless they
go blind without the sun
and on the hill a deer
coughs again