Woods etc

footfall, which is a means so steady

and in small sects wanders through the mind

unnoticed, because it beats constantly,

sweeping together the loose stacks of sound

I remember walking once into increasing

woods,my hearing like a widening wound.

first your voice and then the rustling ceasing.

the last glow of rain dead in the ground

that my feet kept time with the sun’s imaginary

changing position, hoping it would rise

suddenly from scattered parts of my body

into upturned apses of my eyes.

no clearing in that quiet, no change at all.

in my throat the little mercury line

that regulates my speech began to fall

rapidly the endless length of my spine

A memory

Outside in the garden at dusk. The sound of a crow in a far tree. Here, a blackbird, here another crow, here chickens cluck and roost. Behind, a wood pigeon, over there another one replies, there, a third, a fourth, over there, another crow, then two, then three.

I close my eyes. I am pinned in space on threads of sound woven by these dusk time birds.