Photographs from last summer
The blossoms of bindweed
Strewn on Towton field like Meissen plates.
Delicate dirt; if I turn them,
Will there be crossed swords on their base?
Deer-prints point to the sea,
Sharp-stepped, firm-pressed, precise;
I follow, clumsy –
When I get there, they’ve been wiped.
On the road, a bumble queen knocked over –
Her hot fat fur throbs dangerous in my hand;
I enthrone her in a stateroom of red clover;
She restores herself – and populates a land.
DEREK TURNER is Editor of the Quarterly Review