Landscape

A dog’s tombstone, its eroded elegy.
Sunk ponds of algae and carp.
A nymph with no arms and improbable breasts.

Dilapidated perspectives
hum with the A-road and InterCity line.

Aroused by emptiness,
you push a hand inside my jeans.

The wind in the three-hundred-year-old
Lebanon cedars
makes a noise like nothing living.

Lavinia Greenlaw (from A World where New Travelled Slowly)