Find her in the heather downs
Bright noise of your school days
And lose her in the moors beyond
Once promises turn grey
On Earth
She laid her head upon my breast
And interrogated the concept
Of Infinity
Atoms nor stars had the right
As if they were born to show us our
Frailty and scant drops of eons’ seas
The least her mitochondria could do
Would be to marry her more deeply to
Mirrored lives unfolding, compact
If brief and imaginary
Because the stars and atoms’ stubbornness
Would never see them move, she said
We should dismiss them for stars made instead
On Earth, in Finity
Once more
An afternoon turns to honey
Warmest as it fades
The sun retreating from rooftops
Waited to see you again
Pine tree on a moonless night
The moon thinned past threads
Knows not tree from stone
Where do the mountains
Come down to earth
Where does the sea
Know its end
In spite of
He came from one of the last
unwrapped spires
and smelled like nude chirality
like the nature we have shed
And he walked walls instead
of floors, and ate the air
instead of words
the barbarian we used to be
He did not look at me, but wore
every colour of the sky and more
around his neck
This, I think, is the only explanation
*
Winter Heath
When better days have ridden
Their ribbons of mist under the dawn
Receding to the hollows
And hidden places they came from
We only lose ourselves in searching
For time’s wealth backward wound
But palliate in smaller comforts
That on snow-swept heaths are found
Garden, veranda in summer
Do not ask what came of
The clothes we wore back then
Or why the gardens were cut short
By new paths
Do not ask for a remembering
Of those wine-sweet nights, or
The poems composed on the veranda
Between sighs
