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27.xii.25
two poems
a biscuit Christmas on Boxing Day
the scenes of our crime are always returning
still in the Christmas socks
the biscuit creeps up on me
I take it around
I am propelled
day to get back in the box
pull flaps overhead
do some dark
dream it’s still
far back in the year
and that the day will come
to the
dell
by all means, mainly pedal
by all the unnamed many
leaf and landing
twig, whiff
in wilted summer where
by rot of bridge across
and damp
with which falls were
swung
ornate moment
by the box
at the time of our maximum
extent
in the after-almost phase
to the dell!
though one won’t stay
it is a passage place
look up
and you’re there
it’s all the sky occludes
the dell from pry
and with it’s two afoot directions
or all fours wander in
legless even, widdershins
undergreen to be there
no page could contain
it’s puddle to a pond
when rain has had its days
a shelter in the daylight
fairy purposed so
tracking in leaf
trod grass
with lemon
and another
old purposes still live
we will remember
the liberation
from privet, lantana
it is the place untrumpeted
where
just breathe in
and let the eyes breathe
in days of creek
the dell gush
a week beyond still
singing high
who doesn’t love a stillness?
that would be life
and all of time’s weather
gentle bearing
music is made of wings there
all of a world is edge to
dell
every word spoken led
to the dell and through the
dell
today
in a spitting mist
overcast in summer
after heat
that’s where the green is
brightest
that’s where your bird sings
through it soon
as round we go
still coming to the dell
