11 JANUARY 1963, Page 22


Strung green in tire-glows, this cloud was, A net for catching nothing; light leaked through it.

It aimed south—had a darting look : a posture That told a lie—it died there without moving.

On the damp rock a limpet sloped Towards the cloud, snuffed by its hat and bearing Wrong sorts of fathoms on it. (How look like groping Sideways, when one is round?) It left no traces.

And over it the sea flipped up

A soapy loop of water. How it shone--then dully Went faintly nowhere, the same lie in its cupful As limpet was, all hat, and cloud, all colour.

NORMAN maccAto