This delicious silence is 
Sitting in a room alone, reading, while the trees'
Mad gestures semaphore the air.
In here not a breath, out there wildness,
A crazed wind lurching.

In the calm and still within, all things begin 
To unpin, unpart, plot and contour ribbon out behind my back, 
Spilling all my days of blue and green.
But my nimble feet stay put, despite the twist and bob,
Despite the colouring, and the rush of what's to come
Hitting skin with a gale force wind, can't dislodge
That clinging.  

But the present, precarious, is a stilted place,
An eyrie of high sticks perched above the crowd.
And the menace of the past is strong, can climb,
Would filch these eggs I sit upon, 
Would leave disease behind, unpin the mind, 
Scatter my feathers, my nest of straw,
Leave a stunted place of debris and old carcasses.
It never could resist the challenge to disengage
Bliss from balanced feet, to unseat 
My eagle peace.
Collected Works
Return to Collections all
next poem