Nought now stays.
White wings distant.
Day shimmer, leaf shade lost.
Time was, though now no more.
Nought crosses that barren path,
The squeeze, the funnelled fate.
Linger long – each season’s taste
Turns bitter, sour, bitter-sweet.
A dust leaf dissolving, swallow call fading,
Fading, bones of snow, wind-chafed blossom.
Flicker, flicker in a mind nested barren.
Nought, nought. The castle’s teeth are pulled,
Lords and ladies scattered.
A cold wind eats all comfort.
A cold wind sweeps tattered hopes away.
On the mountainside the fires still burn.
Centuries on, the battles lost and won.
This four chambered heart deserted now.
The pulse river race corrodes day’s edge.
Nothing honed here but blocked out monolith,
A cliff where clings an apple tree,
Lost to the world, dangling awen’s river.
One who waits forgetting,
one who waits the end of grieving.
Season’s sea shorn of wonder,
The very marrow of emptiness.
Nought. The ripples rain, grey slanted slate.
The delve, the shattered dust, the sorry land.
Scarred, forgot, grown green again by chance.
All this, a blink of an eye, a long lamenting lope.
Forgot, he howls, he keeps a deep tally there,
Beneath the song, the dip and stretching growing light.
One line for day, one for night,
One for this dreaming husk,
One for the bright girl by the waters, there.
White wings, distant.
The swinging sun ricochets them hither.
Whistling souls, cloud charmed, tremulous.
A keening on the heart plains, soul calling, calling.
A happy crowd, companionable, garrulous.
Vast as days, their numbers numberless.
All the white souls feathered, endless sway.
The found, lost. The lost, found.
Each the other’s ghost, hand in hand, laughing.
So sleek the flicker light the world spin,
Warming, cooling.
The roar at the edge of the world:
One by one, the seasons tip over,
Disappear.
The roar at the edge of the mind:
One by one, the words topple over,
Disappear.
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