Eye of the Needle


I.M. Philip Hodgins, 1959-1995


In the earth
there are doorways
from this earth
but they are narrow.


The weight of matter
keeps it down to earth,
as if the property called mass
is store-security, a clip-on
tag-alarm that stops us
taking our garment
when we leave the shop.


Thoughts are already things
before they’re set to ink.
Their heaviness is hard
to measure, but material,
being stuff in the head.

Weigh the brain before
and after thinking,
the difference is no
laughing matter, too real
to follow us through Exits.


Even light
is far too heavy.
It must be dark
through there.

from New Selected Poems (Duffy & Snellgrove, 2001), copyright © Peter Goldsworthy 2001, used by permission of the author.

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