i
Wings stir the sunlit dust
of the cathedral in which
the Past is buried
to its chin in marble.
STAN RICE
from
“Poem on Crawling into Bed: Bitterness”
Body of Work (1983)
ii
In the glazed greenery of hedge,
and ivy,
and inedible strawberries
the lilies are white; remote; extreme.
Would they were our guardians.
They are barbarians.
STAN RICE
from
“Greek Fragments”
Body of Work (1983)