by George Marsh
lonely walk -
in the branches
flood debris
farmyard stones
through the soles of my shoes
the Milky Way
his portrait restored
my father
younger than me
the dead together
wavering in crowds
– autumn grasses
mice had half the pear
while I dreamed of my parents
caught in the blitz
not a breath –
crisp iced mud
and a crow caw
dawn in the hills –
ridge-lines float
on glowing cloud
fleecy lamb
eaten away at the chest
full of rain
a new gentle me –
sheep keep their distance
the crow flaps off
my big head:
the hills, the clouds
the winter sun
again and again
the roaring surf
as we hold from talking
bollocks to them –
in the spiky pith
a new conker
skeleton tree
in the summer greenery
reaching for light
autumnal day:
gloom and dazzle
November –
the teal couple
splash what light there is
a child playing spillikins –
watching precarious sticks
with her tongue
to a death
in the same crowded train
with the same brimming heart
damp skin
the fog’s illumination
inwardly mysterious
just born on a clear night
the heavens
resolve to a nipple
tenthousand bright waves –
the anchorwarp squeaks
as we bow to each one
stone cloister –
devil and saint
softened by time
Ah, Christine,
our New Year’s fire
wakes a scorpion


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