Hill with its slopes
Rain with its slant.
Earth with its grass and mud.
Goats with their horns
and cloven hooves
and deer with their antlers
could be mistaken –
by eyes with their squint
in the air with its mist –
for trees on an outcrop of rock,
their branches distracted
by something or other.
From The Hill of Wool by Jenny Bornholdt
Published by Victoria University Press
Used with the permission of Victoria University Press
This poem has been posted as part of the Tuesday Poem scheme
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