Eight Planes:

A solid circumference
A work of man's hands
And two tall windows
A view to the farmer's hills
To the battling sea and how
Today I am besieged by
Winds and driving rain:
Elemental pains
Echoed in my heart's wells.

And the door heads up
A narrow spiral of stone
Musty corners and
Cobwebs to a top door
Dark groaning of metal
Then the spew of light
Into the dark the
Golden spill as I tumble
Up, out, onto those
Crenellated walls cut
Out of living stone
By a craftsman's hands.

I have won my own
Maidenhead let down
My golden hair it
Billows in the sea breeze
In that high blue vault I
Swing, commune with gods,
Hear the ages' whispered truths,
I am driven to the future by
A sharp keen breeze from the sea.

The gulls wheel and call
And all the sky is
Aerial, demented, it
Blows my purple robe
Ruffles my ermine, I am
Rucked by the
Flying air.

I have always lived
Will always live
Here, breathe this
Racing air
Hear the things 
No-one can hear
All the secrets
All the lore
All the life the force the
Love of rush that whips
Tangles, disturbs,
Penetrates the very substance
Of the breeze, crackles

A life message crisp
With diamonds and exquisiteness.

I rise, rustling like the
Collected Works
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