For Robin P.
Because I have begged, borrowed so much for so long and failed to gift a single grain in return — because nothing is truly mine not even my shadow or its crooked shade — I offer you the raw, still-golden stubble of fields in late August, these ragged woods darkening softly into dusk, and from the spaces between the stars evening’s yield of birdsong old as a railroad, sudden as summer rain falling here, now, yet already several skies away.
by Siegfried Baber
Siegfried Baber was born in Devon in 1989 and his poetry has featured in a variety of publications including Under The Radar, The Interpreter’s House, Butcher’s Dog Magazine, online with The Compass Magazine and Ink, Sweat and Tears, and as part of the Bath Literature Festival. His debut pamphlet When Love Came To The Cartoon Kid was published by Telltale Press, with its title poem nominated for the 2015 Forward Prize for Best Single Poem. In 2020, he published London Road West, an ebook of poems and photographs. A debut collection of poems, The Twice-Turned Earth is forthcoming, and he is currently working on a book-length study of the medieval Grail romances.
photo by Elias Tigiser