The stone-built villages of England.
A cathedral bottled in a pub window.
Cows dispersed across fields.
Monuments to kings.
A man in a moth-eaten suitsees a train off, heading, like everything here, for the sea,smiles at his daughter, leaving for the East.
A whistle blows.
And the endless sky over the tilesgrows bluer as swelling birdsong fills.
And the clearer the song is heard,the smaller the bird.1975-6, translated by the author. .
