the hide the state apparatus edges
the moat as roger deakin breast
strokes amongst weeds moorhens
dead in suffolk fields on course
dead centre as he centres but flat
rolls to the horizon muscles
rippling english landscape rhythm
and catch turn i roger deakin
i john piper i paul nash i know
what i like in your landed entry
and clear to hear bird calls
spring already and snowdrops and
raw nerves the weather warms
and light thins in the mirror
colours washed out my face
.
Keith Jebb
.