Angst Cycle:
Letter

A long time ago
when the trees were learning to be green again
you wrote from a languid, slow summer
saying you would be in England's grey cold
so soon from now. Unless Australia's
next season of sun, its summer Christmas,
holds you more than legal bindings,
or that old address is not the place to write,
or the unions repair their broken threat,
Hi!

image: poem

84-85

site
copyright

image: set Hear

The Door
Father
I've Always Had Steep Mountains
Watford Gap
Why Is England So Full Of Fools
(Untitled)
So I Dream
Letter




this archive is hosted by arts & ego
© 1978-2020 dylan harris