On this, National Poetry Day, feast your eyes on a new number from Caught by the River Poet-in-Residence Will Burns:
It was February and in late snow
I turned from the river towards the hills
where, along the ridgetop, the fir tips tore
themselves into the vapourish sky.
I walked where I thought I remembered
a path (but there was no path). Through the trees
a gang of muntjac bolted cover.
The plain quiet of the wood was shredded
by the rustle and crack of the deer,
sure-footed in what was not quite panic,
and their absent, settled right of way.
We could get through life living resolved
like meltwater on the hill-grass. All change
obscured in the day’s unwonted weather.