Poem: ‘At the Edge’
Charles Tomlinson, 1 May 1980
The offscape, the in-folds, secreted Water-holes in the boles of trees, Abandoned bits, this door of water On the wood’s floor (knock with the breath And enter a world reverted, a catacomb Of branching ways where the roots splay): Edges are centres: once you have found Their lines of force, the least of gossamers...