Twice three days
Past the last of the
Snow-and-salt trees,
Belts of long mountains,
We may find
What we deserve
In this serious desert: Continue reading
Twice three days
Past the last of the
Snow-and-salt trees,
Belts of long mountains,
We may find
What we deserve
In this serious desert: Continue reading
Drum comes in; steady and
Lacota-Sioux, ghost- beat strong.
She’s standing, tall and proud
Behind silk scarfed microphone
In seen-better-days snakeskin boots;
I am one simple step
Off the path;
The heather and grass move
And, as suddenly as that – click! –
I am a little lost:
Not quite of, and in, this world,
Not quite not.
Surrounded by the ringing charms
Of constant-cuckoo choir;
And the long-travelled voices
Of ghosts of migrant geese,
The high, wind-thinned whining
Of a fence that leans
On shifting shadow-cloud;
Marching stoically into
The resolute grey distances and futures:
The truth alone may
never be enough again.
30/5/2013
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