Issue 18: Sara Crangle
(Tom Raworth Memorial)
for Tom & Val
Her brace of laced ankles high on small hillsides.
Your bag of treasure left behind a low barrier.
Their sun blotted by vivid reds & reds – the
police are grateful & we thank them in turn.
The mind’s moony eye dilates, the peoples
fall by their waysides. Gallant, the wine
bows to our staggered applause.
Lounging in our rubber sphere, we bounce
without striking surfaces solid or obdurate.
Floating, hurtling, we remain sure of our
stations. We savour the words, we pluck
them from the chicken library, listening
in turn upon turn. Snack snack.
Ascending through a nearby tree, one last message re:
tomatoes on the climb. Our sun bats at cloud cover,
and time is ripe for directing young hands toward
leavings. His feet smacked under the table,
the aggression love claims for its own.
This hit is ours for the taking. Live
long and preposter, homage.