They Will Sew the Blue Sail

Æ (ash) | Denise Jarrott

An approach: evening, or

the splaying of a hand to catch rain. That morning,

I had drawn sheep on a rock in ash, they are there

evermore, or

dependent on a slip of the nerve, a break

in the cloud. I am not here to ask whether

not the A and E cannot be cloven, or

if they must always be fused. I cannot read,

and the ash tree makes a shadow.

I know nothing else, nothing knows me. There was

a woman with a lace collar who gave me a book

through a cat flap. I looked at the pictures.

and I was not satisfied. I drew in the margins. I let

the sheep in with the rain.