By Mike Barlow
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Drawing on the experience of living in rural north Lancashire, Mike Barlow’s poems evoke the sense of another world, one in which he is both intruder and intruded upon. His woods, fells, river and stones with their weather and atmosphere are at times almost animate – wilful and contrary – whilst his own presence is ‘flawed by thought’.
Where the World’s Distinctions Blur
Out there behind the dark eyes of a doe
I’m movement, suspect, at the window
as she grazes just beyond the garden hedge,
slight trigger of alarm, not close enough
to turn and bolt, not clear enough to know.
Head raised, she stares, still, as I am still,
flicks one ear then the other. Behind the glass
I hold my breath and watch,
my merest tremble, twitch, blink
touching another life I live inside her looking.