it snowed last night.
the bus zigzags over ice
and takes me to the top of the hill
across the fields of winter wheat until
we see the sea.
clouds heavy
tipped with rose
low sun hangs
silver making the bay white.
it is a heavenly sight.
L. Ivison 2026 copyright
my shadow makes me a giant
criss crossed by metal bars
like an imaginery prisoner in ice.
crunching under the avenue of trees
whose copper leaves lie half buried
in their new blanket.
the bus waits to take me down the
hill, sliding, away from my
memories /
L. Ivison 2025 copyright
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