Comments about Alison Brackenbury
They were everywhere. No. Just God or smoke
Is that. They were the backdrop to the road,
My parents' home, the heavy winter fields
From which they flashed and kindled and uprode
The air in dozens. I ignored them all.
"What are they?" "Oh - peewits - " Then a hare flowed,
Bounded the furrows. Marriage. Child. I roamed
Round other farms. I only knew them gone
When, out of a sad winter, one returned.
I heard the high mocked cry "Pee - wit , " so long
Cut dead. I watched it buckle from vast air
To lure hawks ...