[Poékwot] Bloodvein + The Art of Poetry (David Harsent)

Bloodvein
i.m.

Soft on a leaf, last of the garden exotica, found only at dusk and pale
as the face in the sick-bed except for that long line
going wing-tip to wing-tip, heartstring, nerve-track, a thread you might pull...

[...]

...of doubt and decay where all of this plays out: the fractured pearl
of the creature's eye, the journey from leaf to lamp that has long been
written in, like your word to her, like hers to you as she palms the bitter pill

The Art of Poetry

They get out of bed. They get dressed.
They don't speak a word. Then they split,
both of them seeming a touch
shaky, now, as they leave
(not together of course) and hit
the street. [...]

Nothing unusual in this,
but the poet has just caught a whiff
of a song coming on (maybe soon,
maybe not) that will start with the line
They get out of bed, they get dressed...

Bloodvein, The Art of Poetry, quotes from two poems
by David Harsent, in Night, Faber & Faber (2011)