Just for a moment I was a bird
and you were tiny beneath my wings
for a moment swooping circles high
with you below with wait for me to sing
for a moment I was untethered
and you stared at broken strings
for a moment I swear I soared
over reaches of all folk and kings
for a moment, just a moment
riding the joy of winds
you warned I might forget
such things.
We have these evenings here
sometimes crystalline blue
sometimes like silver
sometimes like blonde
in pepper light
and we scurry
and we scamper
until it feels
there is less
to heave.
Sometimes
these evenings -
sometimes, filmset bright
halogen staged for shadows’ reach
pure lit fingers swooping -
down from old moon sighs.
Sometimes this air resonates,
sometimes, like finest sinewave glass
shaking over sheep-bed green
these evenings hear the fears
sometimes they will appear
to anyone who waits
for evenings here.
Go where white horses lay
on green blanket down
hear young men tell tales
of old Marlborough town.
Run where country girls say
we’re resting on heels
near riverbank’s end
with spin in our reels.
Skip past bullrush and sway
when hillwind comes
alive we will plough
the fields with combs.
Now stare at the edges in clay
and know there are stones
now pausing on land
only ancients
shall own.