The river’s voice
Echoed through light green-gauzed
Falls to rest
Among a fern and bluebell down,
So seeing the circle as a sphere.
So many paths
Flowing into the one -
In the hand
A depth of weight-
A new tea bowl!
From the hillside
Shape-shifting as darkening gloom
The pigeon’s mourning stained call-
The river cutting ever deeper the valley,
Night after day.
Leaving past the church
Taking on the steep rise out of Widecombe
Into wind and sky.
The abode of skylarks
&
Space between places.
Release
Falling backwards into landscape
The unravelling river,
Edges emerging between light and shade
In the dance
Not of it.
Release.
No comments:
Post a Comment