POEM: The Backwards Geese (from the gate outside South Egremont School)
as if time could run backwards at their beckoning;
as if winter could recede from my fingers and the white gate swing wide,
with the fall riot returning to the bracketing treelimbs,
thence to turn verdant and alive, the schoolyard now summer-empty.
The Edge Is Free To Read.
But Not To Produce.
