An Icicle for an Eye

In these short poems, with lines such as 'the bitter orchard trees/ the flinty stars/ a harsh moon-match/ struck in the white-washed yard-' or 'only the stripped thing/ only the primrose smoke/ the sunset chimneys thread-', what's spared are the images of the early consciousness, a landscape stripped to its signs; a glimmer of light can be a way of life, or first impressions a set of beliefs.