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More poems by Les MurrayLes Murray | Print this page.Print | View and Write CommentsComments | Books by Les MurrayBooks by Les Murray

On The Borders

Les Murray

We're driving across tableland
somewhere in the world;
it is almost bare of trees.

Upland near void of features
always moves me, but not to thought;
it lets me rest from thinking.

I feel no need to interpret it
as if it were art. Too much
of poetry is criticism now.

That hawk, clinging to
the eaves of the wind, beating
its third wing, its tail

isn't mine to sell. And here is
more like the space that needs
to exist aound an image.

This cloud-roof country reminds me
of the character of people
who first encountered roses in soap.

Added: 30 May 2002 | Last Read: 20 Jan 2018 4:02 AM | Viewed: 3925 times

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URL: http://plagiarist.com/poetry/4469/ | Viewed on 20 January 2018.
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