Uimhir a Cúig | Winter With Catherine: Poems --- Thomas McCarthy | Numéro Cinq
Here on the writing desk of the earth / The sun goes down quickly at ink level. / Soon the stony outcrop will be a blob / Of light blue and the sky will be pale / As the tissue rises. Is it time to go in / Or is it time to go outside? Only time // Will tell me how the levels rise – / Phrases cluster on the sunlit page...
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