There is a place
between uphill
and down, on the edge
of dread
and dance.
Don't be fooled.
There are many ways
to make things
and people appear
and disappear
truths we cannot know
of the curious shape
of hills, the fading
yellow light.
There is, it seems
an uncertain time
of day when the sea
is in the sky
and the moon
can be heard listening
in the belly
of the local stone.
CB 2007
The Muse (Re)turns - charcoal & conte on paper, CB 2009
A beautiful, beautiful poem Claire. (Causes an intake of breath.)
ReplyDeleteThank you, Kay - poems are slow-forming at the moment, not unlike yeast bread rising in its own time in the corner of the kitchen.
ReplyDeleteHow is your writing going now that you're back from Japan - and Queenstown? I imagine you're full-to-overflowing... Hope to see you at the final Burns reading (on Sunday, is it? I'd better check the email again!) L, C