The Mirror

In town it was very urban but in the country cows were covering the hills. The clouds were near and very moist. I was walking along the pavement with Anna, enjoying the scattered scenery. Suddenly a sound like a deep bell came from behind us. We both turned to look. "It's the words you spoke in the past, coming back to haunt you," Anna explained. "They always do, you know."       Indeed I did. Many times this deep bell-like tone had intruded itself on my thoughts, scrambling them at first, the rearranging them in apple-pie order. "Two crows," the voice seemed to say, "were sitting on a sundial in the God-given sunlight. Then one flew away."       "Yes . . . and then ?" I wanted to ask, but I kept silent. We turned into a courtyard and walked up serval flights of stairs to the roof, where a party was in progress. "This is my friend Hans," Anna said by way of introduc- tion. No one paid much attention and severa...

Swan filets and straw wine, an emphatic look to the driveway whose golf clubs are scattered feelingly. You can undress and sit down on the corduroy doormat blowing and when the Weird Sisters come calling pretend to be talking to yourself. Trouble is they don't come calling, suffering as they do from terminal agoraphobia. A frog juts from a pinecone. My goodness was that you back there? You sure know how to give a feller a good scare. I'd thought it was just bats dripping tar on the heads of the guests and the footmen. You see so little live action in this town and then everybody wants to cooperate or celebrate, sort of. I can do that too. Always. Have a good time. Something might come out in group therapy: your velvet soul as I just realized it. Please come back. I liked you so much. Thistles, dandelions, what do we care? [Ashbery, J. (2000) Your Name Here . Manchester: Carcanet. p]