Finish To Start

cliff’s gaunt profiles soon to be reformed

by winter’s battering where gulls pass

no wing tip heed eyeing green pavements

of wet eel grass draped by receding tide

here amongst round heads of seeded thrift

and plumes of fescue or brome shivering

a clear view of sea’s authority

where only thoughts might travel

footbridge in the glen

looking down into a crown of ferns

already tinged gold

in this deep defile returning

dark pitted stop to stand and look back

through twisted thorns and demented oaks

engulfed in coiled ivy’s integrated snares

I lean on hand rail abridging small sounds

of water running deep beneath harts tongue

and moss lined rocks slow rounded rolled

there by torrents past and matted roots

of black alder’s spiral trunks

pond skaters

on a pool before the falls

play tag

what touch feels sight seals

who sees each turn and step

what bears the weight the root

that comes to hand each steepness

born to grasp the slide back scree

the bark rough skin the slow give

born weight the face reverse

tight drawn as fades and shapes

this place and stumble to regain

some depth of touch adds grace

which way abridges sense or climb

disturbs connection slight return

to choice and which support props

enough to come to grips slow hope

stone by stone blade by blade

leaf by leaf frond by frond

shaft by shaft if only spirals light

wings momentarily as pin points

reflect each way the glen’s

encompassed space cuts through

stratified encircled journeys home

wind slowly to a halt mere hole

opening on the pathway back

shaft of sun

a hoverfly as if

in suspense