A poem by Anthony Wilson

  Borderline       for and after Lawrence Sail       the sump-life of the place – Seamus Heaney       These are the flatlands stitched between flood-plain and ditch, everything provisional, ooze and sluice. The estuary looks walkable, spines of red clay rising from slate water with flanks of weeping slip which shimmer mother-of-pearl, silver, molten. A powerboat that was toy bounces through its roar, its wake … Continue reading A poem by Anthony Wilson