Poem in Which I Respond to Notes Written in the Margins of Ian Hamilton Finlay’s Selections

Poems are toys and you’re right: everyone plays with them in their own way.

I did use my pram as a wheelbarrow once, wearing a red hood, toys inside.

I made my garden furniture out of a box too. It was all folds and hinges.

Emblemata is a shit word, yes. Italics sometimes heighten the shit.

There’s a note next to JOKE BEANS I’ll ignore, though I like the line below:

“what does not die; what matters — is that men should believe in History.”

All my life I kept out of seaweed. I stayed away from the sea.

I used to dance all the time but I never inherited any parties.

The sheep / the dog / the sheep / the dog. I remember woollen lovers

and I believe a ghost wrote these notes: Everything in waves.

I would  have noted ONLOOKER / SENDS FOR LEAF / BOAT

but I echo WORDS ARE DIFFICULT TO PUT INTO WORDS.

Chrissy Williams