A Year On

Uncomfortable as an overcoat
supposed to hang loosely
around the shoulders - this fog
of the mind. It mirrors the near warm

winter fog that muffles the muttering
jackdaws eyeing movement
in the undergrowth. One
wants to say, "I'm sorry", but

don't know why or to whom. A whim
of the climate. You were extracted
from your mother's belly because
her envy of your possible

happiness frightened her.
Any moment I expect
you to emerge from the wet grey,
toddle across this big lawn,

smile, stretch out your hand.

Night And

an old white horse galloped away
in the meadow. Jumped into a field.
The living straw received it with bows,
reluctant whispers and but muted
applause. A snorting white horse.
Awake. Awoken by the night.

All black. The moon walkabout while
the white mare roamed, man-defying.
Drunk, she couldn't stop drinking
the lack of light. The mouth high,
wide open, as if sucking the
tits of an immense black belly.

Panic on the farm. This called for
a chase in wellies and Adidas shoes.
Medallions crept from matted breast-hair.
Silver manacles all clanked the same tone,
though engraved with different names.
Cursing men climbed their machines.

They followed the horse with their
tractors. Revving the combine harvester
they hunted. They closed in from the side
on three wheeled buggies till one
of them fell with its tyres still churning.
The swerving combine knocked
a hole in the dry stone wall. Out
broke the mare through the cloud
of tumbling debris. Went down, down
the slope, her sweat more pungent
than diesel, turned into the woods
where weels cannot turn.

One moment whitefish in blackwater,
then disappeared.

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