At a day miles an hour
at a wood-wink
hills breathed themselves in
the field shut its ears
weak as you were
hospital-gowned like an owl
I bet you stood up
night’s wings hitting the window
no record yet
of how darkness flares
when you lifted off the tree of your life
I was looking the wrong way
Terry Jones’s first collection, “Furious Resonance”, is published by Poetry Salzburg
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This article appears in the 13 Feb 2019 issue of the New Statesman, The revolution that fuelled radical Islam