Fiona Sampson

Image by Kitty Sullivan



Slim as a nun, I lie along
the margin of a borrowed bed
whose springs are texting through my bones,
Abandon hope. Abandonment -

ecstasy of fall. I gaze
up into the godless dark
as if it might disclose some way
of getting right back, to the start

of that unselfconscious wish
for (old-fashioned diction ...) joy.
And dark stares back. True, I'm pissed
again. But must the old alloy

always split along these seams -
is this, then, what incarnation means?


Fiona Sampson

Fiona Sampson reading from her poems


2The Dream of the Monstrance

3The Plunge

4Attitudes of Prayer

5World Asleep

6Draft for a Short Fiction

7The Secret Flowers

8Fish Market Garrucha

9Shepherd's Delight

10Leda at the Lake

11 Common Prayer


13The Looking Glass

14Icarus in a Rainstorm (Six Views)

15La Source

16Folding the Real

17Trumpeldor Beach

18from The Velvet Shutter

19 A Walk to the Paradise Garden

20Night Fugue


22In Carinthia