Image result for METEMPSYCHOSIS

from earth to earth, from air to air,

I fly

never at home



I spy

this ground

scored by the passing blocks of ice

an earth, torn from the permafrost,

this is where the old sun can sting me back

as I hear children laugh

in the rich meadowland

and this is where I can hear

fear calling its long retreat

and this is where

the very gods of earth and air

scream for me to stay

the high fells are clear

out of it today

as I glance

down to the valley floor

your dress waves a wind-blown


I forget

which itch of memory did the damage

the high fells, your dress,

this hot afternoon,

I lean on the Regent's park

for space


sleep and remember.



◄ Burnham Beeches with Anna, 1985

Why Brexit? ►


No comments posted yet.

If you wish to post a comment you must login.

This site uses cookies. By continuing to browse, you are agreeing to our use of cookies.

Find out more Hide this message