February And Beyond

Parallels

Lenticular cloud-caps top cumuli,
overriding smooth as milk on silk,
reclining nudes with frivolous drapes,
hiding nothing but their dark intent.
Even as we watch, they fuse and meld,
orgiastically swelling and twining,
to form a towering Boar Mountain
cloudbank for our walk.

Yet under March aegis all is demonstrative,
stretching, straining, fluttering-still, en pointe,
in our stop-frame time.

Down the lane to Ravenwood I step
in parallels, thumbstick and footfalls
sufficient beneath the incessant stream
of shimmering blackbird song, thrush
hidden in hedgerow, thrilling drill;
and yet I tread within my own torments
and detestations too, tolerated
as intrinsic, a music hope will change
and fade with seasons to forgetful murmur.

In ghost-birches silence greets eagerly
but train of the wind and the thought lead on
and out to ravens' wilderness-pulping calls.
enveloped by alarms, their periphery.

Against the dark-ploughed hill the pined skyline,
where cloud relents and blue resumes promises,
the sunlight shines from out the basking plain.

Bumbling past us, the first-seen bee this year.
Two hen pheasants rush by, wraithed in their cream
and speckled camouflage. The cock struts, mid field,
insolent and extravagant pledges.

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