Questions for the heart

Where do you live

that you beat your wings against bars that surround you
resist tethers that tie you? 

Where would you fly
if the window were open to sheets of blue and scatters of stars
the door key just there in the lock?

What’s running through you
so quickly you don’t want to keep it,
send it packing with such beating of drums?

 

How would it be to hold it,
cherish it, nourish it,
let it stay as a guest in your four sweet rooms?

Heart, what do you love?
Really love?

Morning


I got up too late for Venus
but last night’s sky made me gasp

as the dog and I made our midnight

circuit of the Crescent under the half moon -

 

dew soaked my shoes this morning

on the high hill overlooking Canterbury,

the cathedral misty in the deep bowl

of the surrounding Downs,

 

a robin singing insistently,

a distant sounds of bells.