it is the air
listening to the air
to the low link of ether to earth
to the sky diving clouds
to the arc of a dancing plane
to the skid of heavy handed weather
to the invisible rhythm
I see a mission-
the element of air
to the birds
to looking up
to the wildflower
outsider of beauty
for the weather air brings and my bearing it
for the time contemplation takes
for the crow's lurching shriek
gentle ripple journey chaffinches skirting over the hawthorn tree as if it were a silk nightgown
moving grace
I went on a breath pilgrimage
I live in air
my own electricity
my own book of knowledge
my own cup of tea
my own landscape
dissolving into air and reforming
the shelter of a boned leaf
aired and feathered
the drift of down
on a meadow
signalling massacre
yet poetic
there is a tap of air that when I untwist
contours my world
solitude breaths
