Cloudbanks, here, crack,
crevasse, archipelago,
there mat and gather continental
towards salmon sundown.
Above, almost tangible, so
soft drift smooth their curves
from white flanks thin to
blue creeks, a milk-stream.
Geese that call each other
high across the coloured gulfs
common gulls over chimneys
gliding die-straight, easefully
the oblivious lorry juddering
into dusk below singing perches
scattered wide as skies above:
I am still doing what I started:
as an adolescent long ago
breathing in the drug of sunset,
seeing slowly sinking furnace
pick out chaotics of dappled air
(as tide picks out the rippled
slopes of sand bars flowing in
and all the land-gulls chorus)
robed in tremulous enormity.
..
YOU ARE READING
Walls Fall
PoetryLetting go of Fortifications and Armouring. There are treasures to be found therein. This is the softest M7 walking in a bare skin. There are no similar stories
