Yield and Other Poems
By Stephen Kingsnorth Yield You know, like dough, a verse needs rest, before again you wrestle words, or like a smith you hammer, beat, to smash the molten into shape. Now does it sizzle, tip dipped, cool, or maybe back to furnace heat, avoid pig-iron, brittle work, when best is wrought through sweated toil? If horse to ride its shoes must fit - when hanging on the stable door, if luck to hold,…
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