Janeiro 2011
The Rabbit Catcher
It was a place of force - The wing gagging my mouth with my own blown hair, Tearing off my voice, and the sea Blinding me with its lights, the lives of the dead Unreeling in it, spreading like oil. I tasted the malignity of the gorse, Its black spikes, The extreme unction of its yellow candle-flowers. They had and efficiency, a great beauty, And were extravagant, like torture. There was only one...