Gathering

Watch now, I have gathered
all that is needed –
a bell, a box, a broken
clock, a handful
of seeds grown mildewed and gnarled,
a nail, a pocket filled
with silence, a rusted
chain to bind them all.

Follow, and watch again,
carefully as we make our way
down the path which winds
between bushes overhanging
and pale flowers’ curious breath.

Then we will bury everything
we gathered. In the dark soil,
rich with hidden joy.
Tamp down the earth, so
none will see we have visited,
that we were ever here
at all.



At Dusk

He can be found at dusk, walking the old by-ways,
tracing the lanes, his breath a mist,
his eyes dull but blazing, seeking the trails
of creatures who passed not yesterday, but before
there were walls, were fields, were signposts, barbed wire
or furrows, but just the tug, the flow,
the slope to the river, the grey horizon and beyond.



Strange Grey Eyes

You and your strange grey eyes,
misting as clouds, so lost
and so proud, staring at nothing
you see; to my mind
you were staring at me.

You and your strange grey eyes,
speaking in silence with
nothing to say, running towards me
then walking away, and back,
always back the next day.

You and your strange grey eyes,
so thin was the thread,
how strong were the ties
that drew me towards you,
so foolishly wise, though
we knew that we’d never know why.