Crows
perching and bickering on stone pinnacles,
unfold reluctantly the wind-flaps of black wings
to shatter the sun’s dreaming mirror,
voices like rusty hinges opening a dark door
long disused in the afternoon.
Let me be simple
as sunlight lives in stone dreams:
children dance, stamp,
squabble,
on delicate-coloured pavements;
birds are crying spring labyrinths;
threads of sun tangle waves of blossom;
shadow chequers the
ache of light echoing on eyelids.
Drifting to shocks of pollen,
it is still April singing
over the dazzle of the stranger sun:
the rough green bark of the toothed light
is the tongue of her smile.
....
