IN ST MICHAELS (poem) - Frances Presley - United Kingdom - Poetry International
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FEBRUARY
IN ST MICHAELS

the sound of the hoover:
(burrs catches on skin
furs throat lining
sounds like
the line under
the dead straight way)

turn around sound
catches its breath
bones and tiptones
the lining of my throat
the dust still vocal

                       above
her hoover                     movement
she is hovering
the altar
sun on green carpet

2

he was holding the kettle
above the birdbath
melting the ice

gold tipped wings
and straight back
against the low tree
holding their
(apple)
onyx

such an one and
such an one

beware the bullfinch
flat caps go flatter

3

pull
                                                    strike
pull

light lines across
the spiral steps

                             no
              admittance


no                      trespass

                                       step

                                                                across