Month: March 2021

Dehiscence

Nick4 Comments

One day, this existence
Will all be water
Under the bridge disappeared,
A life as fragile and as delicate
As the dehiscent fears
Of a daffodil descending,
Or dreams in the oblong
Wrongs of my bluebell tears,
Or the crinoline ribs
Of a single chicken’s egg
In a bowl, on a table,
Her perfectly oval
Smooth essence of Soul
Controls internal elements
And hides the chalazae
Of you and I
In albumen and furrows.
In the furthest distance
Untravelled, a dog is asleep
On a Mediterranean
Mezzanine painted
In daffodil-yellow.

Outside, the ruffled pigeons
Are courting again,
Their chests as wide
As the yawns of lionesses,
Just like last year.
The glazed terracotta breaks,
And another ten the same.
I reach into my own senescence.

You Are My Orchard

Nick1 Comment

You are my orchard
And I am the apple;

You are my court
And I am the gavel;

You are my fishnet,
Trapping my salmon

Pink, anadromous,
Under your trident.

You are my bread
With spread raspberry leavened;

You are my harp’s head
And I am the chords,

You: Calliope, Erato,
Terpsichore, and I am

A new murmillo, absorbed;
We dance and we pause

While wild a world billows,
Resist the red pillows

And red-fonted clause
In a river once thawed.

You are X upon X
And I am your ink,

We wake from our trance
And bleach their gold sinks.

The Withering Tree

Nick1 Comment

The leaves upon the withering tree,
What’s good for him is not for me;
Mid-March grey, by May green,

Where he went cannot be seen;
Do dreams prolong without him?
Those stowed within his mind, it seems,
Harboured for my doubting.

Changed my clothes, change of scene,
Their remedies, a routing;
Bury me under a withering tree,
Atop the Oxen Mountain.