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William Logan

BPR 51 | 2024

Study, Unfinished

Empty of promise or routine,
the narrow palette
of sky kept its temper,

feathery nothings piling
with unacknowledged debt
to the scrawly nothings

of Turner’s palette,
or those studies by Constable
like suds in cappuccino.

Below, the ordered courts,
civilized ravens dyed
to extremity, hoo-hooing

pigeons offering themselves
as prey, yellow rape fields
belted by stubbly hedges—

all lay in an expectation
never to be gratified.
Somewhere a loyal river

uncoiled like old rope.