Closer to Ecstasy

There’s a dark, deep powerful thread

Running around us now, these

Fifty wild, unloaded ghost-white mustangs,

Manes streaming like tense autumn lightnings

As they stretch their necks and head-down charge

Up the scree-walled slopes to the place

Where the beautiful god-of-all-storms

Presses spells into the lavender-bruise sky

With an axe and a battle-hearted melody.

And I’m full of electric jolts and sparkle,

Riding a box-car built of grey-knot timber and phantom iron,

Sharing the line with a rock-heavy locomotive

That follows a hole drilled in the solid wall of blackness

By the Cyclops-eyed lantern strung from the cow-catcher sweep.

With a heavy, chain muscled hand the fire-box silhouetted driver

Pulls the cord that will set the moon’s-hell bells ringing:

Darkness is coming and I couldn’t be closer to ecstasy.

Before the Rain …

This is the rain

That isn’t really rain –

That comes before the rain

That will be –

But why the fuss?

Didn’t we always know the

Summer wouldn’t last forever?

If it wasn’t what you wanted

Surely there’s only your self

To blame for that?

December’s insanities,

Brewing in the still room

Begin to giggle, little

Secret red bubbles;

The dark that isn’t real darkness,

That comes before

The dark that is:

What’s next?

 Really?

You have to ask?

Surely that’s the question

Best left to answer itself?