Ploughing at Nightfallby Colin Oliver
Original Language English
The hill lights burn like a fuse.
The magpie flies the hedgerow
white, white, white.
The tractor roars down its beam,
the plough glowing.
And, pressing on the small door of the self,
the night's immense emptiness
comes falling in.
|-- from Stepping Into Brilliant Air, by Colin Oliver|