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Glimpse a Ground
Brace comfortably aligned, bent at rest, a process
to find good reason, not like a weed, a word tangle
binder to disconnect mist or fog not yet complete.
Know to care, know to toe the line in close beam,
beyond rational limit oh light be mere flickers and
go true to review each hand foretold or tainted for
now, then to stay or give way to transit, as needful
as water, all in tune and mended by music. His slip
will come in advance to set form, words striding to
hold across, hold breath, set down rock or wind up
just a drop in service beyond retrieval now, scraps
perhaps valid at discount, frame braced, too clear
to see far on any day and its dewy morn beginning.
On reflection, start again to refit for purpose, who
else could do it? All bereft and glad, we clutch at
pollen posies, shadow play ahead for a while then
forge or recollect molecules, bees, birdsong, sirens
all encrusted broken vowel desire, syllable ramble,
letters dispersed, singed minds, a distant prospect
briefly seen escapes as waste outpaces daily time or
plants a seed refuge imaginary trial bed, rainfall for
balance—leafage, lovage, ditched for perfect pitch.
Ian Patterson is a poet, translator, writer, and retired academic. He lives in Suffolk. Collected Poems was published by Broken Sleep in 2024, and Books: a Manifesto by Weidenfeld & Nicolson in 2025.
Copyright © 2026 by Ian Patterson, all rights reserved. This text may be used and shared in accordance with the fair-use provisions of Copyright law. Archiving, redistribution, or republication of this text on other terms, in any medium, requires the notification of the journal and consent of the author.
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