for Kathleen Loughnane by Moya Cannon. Over the drystone, sunstruck wallwe were ambushed by the swayand scent of a July meadow—whites of tall daisy and yarrow,purples of scabious and cranesbill,the bitten yellow of cat’s ear,blue tremble of harebell,and more flowers that we couldn’t name, but we were caught, are caught still,in the blurry, summery sway […]