DHRUPAD 4 (windy day)
Green rain, green air,
wind cool with doves,
cooing with doves and,
it could be, cuckoos,
it could, it could be cuckoos
between the mother calling
and the lamb’s reply.
A slide down to the sea
is the river task,
the river fast brown rain full
spinning away downstream
daffodils fading, cherry blossom confetti,
bless you, bless you,
and the blackthorn a rimed white now,
a pure white now,
a white that clears and seals the eye, now.
And the surprising green of elm seeds
hanging high and leaning down the road,
wood elm, secret elm, mountain elm.
And a new day ripped with blue,
healed with rain and healed again.
The light and soft
racing the dips and darkened woodlands.
And in the valley it could be a cuckoo,
it could.
And the dip and rise
and screech of swallows’ circumference,
their wheel and compass
the round wind and blue sunlight
and a deeper height to it all now,
a dancing deeper height to it.
Open blue winds,
the opening, the year, the seed.
The brighting day
in this flurrying
wind rush.
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