February And Beyond

Drift

A wiggle of a cloud,
like a sand ripple low-tide imprint,
expresses the play of air.

We eat out, on our weather-roughened table,
baked beings, in sweltering sunlight:
Cayenne, Marjoram, Paprika, Rosemary.

The twitter of finches cascades opinions
glittering like water falling on a sunlit boulder,
then silence, a miraculous conjunction

between dog barks, Sunday roads,
train horns and children's voices,
while birds brood on their verses,

Summer's emissaries travel far
back up Spring's beck to her moorland gates
to bless a primrose by the white stone.

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