METEMPSYCHOSIS

 

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from earth to earth, from air to air,

I fly

never at home

anywhere

until

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

caress

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

sleep and remember.

 

 

◄ Burnham Beeches with Anna, 1985

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