Fiona Sampson Poems

You could figure it as a trapdoor,
blur of hinge and
down
into the unconscious of this stranger
...

He—

You saw the way her body looked at me
all address
calling me down
she was so
...

All in the stilly night the muntjac
roars from its hedge: a barking roar
of July, heat, its own broken-open
fruition
under black
...

If I'm you, or you me—
Interpenetrating God—
enlarge our intimacy.
...

The deer racing across a field
of the same clay and tallow
color they are—if they are:
or are they tricks of the light?—
...