Earth Sequence



Follow a lined way,
iconography covering shadows
where the pack-thief
also waits. This is the long walk
over glass – words, whispers
the voice’s corridors promising
a safe land’s climate –
react, a radio blaring
You are my special one:
cries for perfections
every lover knows.


Meet me here in the present
where leaf-block is lost to
shadow, where sun jumps temporary
across the mind’s cold threat.
My skull’s velvet, feels nothing
in the faint to the floor,
an oak message
carved for posterity.
In five hundred years we’ll be
old photos.
Crave the design in metal.


Fast countries apply colour –
test around us, scaling the
world’s surreal-leaf-mould
the opening-up, surrender. My eyes
seek yours, shelving off
where the bone-heap’s tossing.
Music drifts funereal, it’s
part of us, this watching
as gremlins divide the air
and animals shape
their afraid quick target.


The bleeding gape widens
uncovering the damage.
Killer is tied to victim
and neighbours stare at the light allowed
sorting, inspecting
are inspected in turn…
Outside it is dark, but here
the noisy grab for relics amongst
monstrosities formed, the true
shape gone, only drying faces
saved out of the still, black flame.


Carrion carries its own colour –
the claustrophobia
joined to death. Slowly the wrath
around each neck widens
taking concrete fancies
into new limits. Eye is a
complete stranger here where
the closed ear has millions of years
to its credit. And the silent tape
sweeps on, arbitrary as
acres of famine.


Still the forests surround
the places nearest the heart.
With love, nothing is simple
the grateful soft breath turning
to reveal the flower underfoot,
announcing tidal crusts
to the waiting surface; always
carefully, spring’s
first twist of season held
in fields that carry the certainty
of warming light.


And the expected one
doesn’t come. Time-tables
crumple in my hand and the
disappointment grown under
the white ice of childhood,
flakes under the skin
comes back… I wait, only
the slightest smile is needed
to light a grey eye’s key –
and the lover’s hand close.


Nature, workman, silent-getter
of the heart’s climaxes, I want to see
dense leaves fill the untorn
empire, with winter an eye’s jump away
hidden, and the jerked bud free to
work out its dazzling hour.
(A dream of being
care-less as a plant.)
Letters arrive, signalling –
love’s chartered steady


Finally, the meeting after months
of absence. Out of the waiting
a slot of happiness, voices
without sanctions…
The forest is immaculate — a place
to win the harp’s jelled sound,
any song, music made out of sticks
on a tin, kettle shaking
in a dream. But always the tune
(So lovers swear it.)


Crosses the time for departure
put off into days. A leaving
within the close side of happiness
where fences are
unread, unreal, where
promises aren’t necessary
(the heart’s code fulfilled),
even while history’s meridians
pace the sky, leaving
blood on a star —
and earth can only look.

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