1
The underside of heaven
A grey rolling, folded softness
Pushed gently, refiguring the light.
Messenger birds slide between worlds.
Settled and slow, layered in shells of skin,
Webbed, skeined, we solidify, objectify,
Await outcomes, anchor the ineffable.
2
Soon, and suddenly, there shall be green leaves.
A day or two of sun, a change of wind.
This pale stretched time will melt.
Hatched and brilliant will be the morning sun.
We shall remember what we have forgotten
And forget the simplicity of folded light.
Birdsong, bright edge and shadow;
The scent of hyacinths, the scent of mown grasses;
The roar of beauty as time flickers.
A brimstone butterfly in golden morning.
3
These words: a map back to my soul
Perhaps for another to discover
Where cold ashes still mark the place
I could not remain.
These words: a map back through dream to memory,
A resuscitation of hours and senses.
What is lost, gathered again –
A tide scouring, reforming the sands,
Never to be the same, though not so much changed.
The roar of time as beauty flickers.
4
Rain-wet morning
Cool on my brow
The blessing of doves
The blessing of doves
Soft chanting from treetops
Grey, heavy clouds
Grey, heavy clouds,
What is there missing?
Only the voice of the cuckoo.
simonhlilly 