Far from Woolpit

In that land we peer into every hollow

And tumble in every pit. A fall is just a meeting,

Sliding into grass and taking its colour.

We are contented with twilight, the bright squares on the lawn,

The crickets and the wish on what may be a planet.

In that land we can gaze across the river for hours.

 

That land erodes beneath the righteous splash

From above, the churning of soap on the knees.

Its language drowns and warps amid the chorus

Tolling out the proper uses of bread.