It's been a good fifty years. If I live to be one hundred, which I hope to do, I'm only halfway through!
Fosterling 'That heavy greenness fostered by water' At school I loved one picture's heavy greenness -- Horizons rigged with windmills' arms and sails. The millhouses' still outlines. Their in-placeness Still more in place when mirrored in canals. I can't remember never having known The immanent hydraulics of a land Of glar and glit and floods at dailigone. My silting hope. My lowlands of the mind.
Heaviness of being. And poetry Sluggish in the doldrums of what happens. Me waiting until I was nearly fifty To credit marvels. Like the tree-clock of tin cans The tinkers made. So long for air to brighten, Time to be dazzled and the heart to lighten.