Last day of May—already!—last 42. I wrote this one during our week of hot summery weather and was hoping by the end of the month it would still be an accurate description. Dream on, Jane. Straight storms and solid rain is all we’re getting for a while to come, it seems.
This sky is full of light
birds’ egg blue
behind a tracery of green
and far beyond this daytime screen,
sea-mirror, blue planet echo,
the infinite blackness of space.
When did we turn the wrong corner
find a dull treeless avenue
where we expected birdsong?
I expected birdsong
but now I wonder
what was in your dreams—you never said.
Summer holds its breath
in the clouds of this sullen sky
this damp fractiousness
the blooming and the fruiting
quiet beauty unseen
behind veils of rain.
What hides in the dark
beyond the window glass
among the shadows?
Wild prowling and furtive steps
hold less of terror
than ancient wounds.
Finbar is having bedtime problems. He’s afraid of his bed. Makes getting him settled at night even more fraught than usual.
the twitching fears
that move the shadows
what sleeps fitfully behind the fear
of the creaking bed is too terrible
for human imagination to contain.
This day is so bright
sunshine on dew-glitter
the world is a little kinder
smiles somewhere wider
No cars, no human voices,
twitter of music, machinery drone;
in this air, vibrating with bee and birdsong,
the only silence
is the hush of death.
It sounds from the sound of gunshots that there is another ‘battue’ going on and some unfortunate animal is being exterminated.
This fragile peace
where bees drift and birds sing
and in the ripple of the stream, a free wind blows.
A mind set on death
a shadow on the edge
of these quiet places.
What kind of cat is this
that prowls at night and hunts by day
around the house and by the stream?
Marten, bushy-tailed and full of cheek
eats the cherries
before they are even ripe.
Why this thunder?
as if there was not enough killing in this world
take their pleasure