Two Poems
Alice Oswald, 23 January 2003
last time a man was sealed in skin like an inspoken word sealed in it was mid-spring, most people arm in arm, most trees whispering and he could just make out the fluttering light
it was warm, it was days you walk out without a coat and little rain showers dash across the carpark and he stood there, like a man on film, going on with his heartwork at last at last he could think...