This poem is taken from Stand 211, 14(3) September - November 2016.

Peter Rawlings Three Poems

Love divulged is barely love at all
– John Burnside

At 54.1 degrees north I found the house
as if it had been looking for me,
as if I’d been found out.

There was a parked car adrift,
a glaring anachronism
but their deliverer.

When truants from the city go far
into such a place of hard living
they enter indirection and solitude

and I share this with them,
what I want to say moving
in the slipstream away, undetected.

This estranged house has dreamed them
one by one, known and unknown,
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