had to lie somewhere – hedge or ditch
exactly bordering on God. Wanted to know
where it lay from Helpston; found it
maddening – no end of lanes, of fields
where grass and leaves smelt strange,
larks babbled other dialects; wandered
mile on mile in search of it – an end
to far-as-eye-can-see despair;
settled on turning round, went home.
Share on TwitterShare on FacebookShareEmailPrint
Send Letters To:
The Editor
London Review of Books,
28 Little Russell Street
London, WC1A 2HN
letters@lrb.co.uk
Please include name, address, and a telephone number.
