Forty Six

Reinforcement, of soul
Of spirit, of breath, of voice
Sigh of great expectation
Sigh of intense stillness

Hear the crows squawk
Hear the pigeons coo
As in the old times
On modern chimney pots

Not so far from executions
Or more so, from persecutions
Not so far from dereliction
Of duties, of buildings

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Forty Five

Close in on me
Stumpy stone pillars
Withered away arches

Weight your song onto me
Stained glass window
Soprano led choir

Depart from me
Onwards to Berlin
To your own family

Be as you would for me
Lightness, movement
Quietly with voice

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Forty Four

Take the birdsong
To the dusk
Let the warbler
Play his tune for me

Take the hillside
To the shepherd
Let the sheep
Play their song for me

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Forty Three

On the last night
In the late light
The singers sing
Of Mack the Knife

In the late life
Of the last sight
The chorus rings
Of Mack the Knife

By the new pond
Is the old bond
The poet writes
Of clouds so high

On the old stone
As Orcadians roam
Their voices sound
Of sheep, of birds in flight

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Forty Two

One more stone on water
One more leaf down the rill
Slow passage as you fought her
Floss, off the scent on the windowsill

One flat film of still cold water
One lazy cloud in the sky
A singular path as you caught her
Gossamer flight into rye

One barbed wire, then one other
Another field beyond the field
One long journey as you brought her
The dragonfly who you thought would yield

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