December Evening

December Evening

Dusk walk, out from the woods
over wide fields, a stile, a path
skirting the Iron Age fort,
coastline snaking away from us
both ways, we see wide sky
smeared with cloud and light –
rain stroking the land’s horizon
sun bursting in patches of gold
on a sea suddenly empty of ships
while in the bay, sea sits in heavy
battleship grey, unmoving -

Everything today has two sides –
we walk, you and I, with two dogs,
one black, one white, hurtling in circles
over the high green hill - they follow
you out onto the concrete jetty
where beach becomes water –
I stay on the shore and watch the rain
come in over your dark form –
in the distance, St Anthony’s Lighthouse
slowly blinks as darkness dissolves
today’s bright moments. The moon
almost at her quarter is blown away
by clouds, our footprints soon to be
washed away by rain.

Birds

Cormorant

The Chinese put a ring round your throat
so they can steal any fish you’ve caught

through your quickness – today in the distance
I see you turn your zig-zag neck and beak

into an eyelash, a black arc slipping
the grey wave. When you are too light to dive,

so I read, you swallow pebbles for weight.
Last summer, I saw five of you form the shape

of a star, drop in formation, cutting the sea
as if it were paper, and you characters

in an Oriental language, writing of the heft
of the water you part, the cost of the fish you yield.

9th December 2009

And Joy Befell Me

And Joy Befell Me

Some confusion as we queued at the altar -
suddenly ushered forward by the pretty verger
as the priest approached, to the middle of the rail -
sweet symmetry - and as I knelt - tout de suite,

the host arrived, melted on my tongue, the flesh, the light
her swinging pony tail, all the people, all as one.

Sunday 6th December 2009