A poem a week, he said, peeled from my seven days
Like sticky fly-paper in which might be embedded an owl, or a garden,
A snake, ferret, or feeling of joy or despair – even a sleepless night. Or maybe
A poem a week, he said, peeled from my seven days
Like sticky fly-paper in which might be embedded an owl, or a garden,
A snake, ferret, or feeling of joy or despair – even a sleepless night. Or maybe
