—In memory of Geoffrey Hill
Lord, now lettest Thou. Leaf-fires
smoke in pale rain. A hawk circles.
All that is given, I have: the dark
of pines, the tooth of the fox,
the slow blood, breath through the mist.
What must be enough is enough. Mine eyes
have seen Thy salvation, my death
lies in the sodden roots.
In peace so let me. I hide
under the shadow of these wings.
by Rebekah Curry
Editor’s Note: Abbreviated sentences and careful enjambment frame this lament with weary grief, and while the nod to classical prayer is evident, the imagery reminds the reader that death is more visceral than cerebral.