7/7

four collared doves hard-arc up
the hedgerow beneath their

shadows linseed is pre-blue, a
ghost dust willing its hectare self

to bud; here sky squeaks over-
full cheeks of chewed grey

pith spatting unfit to hold
onto and a dense dew

phantoms upon
downy hillsides

in handshake
outline

rain
disguises

what’s askew – rises
wings eyes souls suprises

children, two, home, with unbelievable
directness ask was dad ok in London today

and over 7 million people there didn’t die which
is not the answer to any kind of why

but try explaining how flight
competes with falling

things beat skim
win coo

you are my tears
you and fields and clear mornings

and dear dear thundery awnings
precipitable warnings

my journey is not done yet
our death a slim certain

bet between might
and thought

nought altered
birds flap again treeward perhaps

the local train hushes a micro-interruption
the bane of our hope is merely grace

traced across this beautiful landscape
like someone sprainted a tendentious seal

teal, lacewings, corn, elderberry
poppies-as-red-memes: these

things remind that too few
survive who eschew

the moment