Thursday, 20 January 2011

I take my seat
real ripples on the pond, from under the surface
whinge of saw
a landscape of gently nudging from both sides
earth and being

High birds fly randomly, black
against clouds and blue
one has caught the wave
glissades higher, wings motionless
a dash against the cirrus
space opens

can bone grow into stone
aching muscle into creaking branch
rumbling stomach into rippling pond

eyes grow wider
lazy around the edges
to catch the flickerings

an eye that listens gently

treasures of the damp, ungainly field
are like cold coins
lain on a warm cheek