Tuesday, 3 March 2020

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

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