Poem: ‘Here’
Lachlan Mackinnon, 16 June 1983
The disappearance of time, a life as orderly as the formal view with its row of poplars and the sleeping river, which at the mill was brilliance but now has found its level lower, less limber; these and these alone
are offered by this city with no echoes where leaves by the cathedral murmur obliquely their little snide exclusions and the tobacconists remember the dead. A woman here would be...