halftwo
Wird Batcher
Post-storm-strewn yew berries pink the path and gully.
Snapped branches lie: whale bones on the strand.
Above, the rushing scud of foamy surf: clouds blowing,
Suds flecking the blue.
Redwings sound danger: a Sparrowhawk slips between
The wreck of the trees and a single Redpoll spirals up
Catching the roar, and gone.
The corpse of the copse: skeletal remains
Of the flesh-stripped boughs.
A low sun snagged in the net of the thorn,
And, beyond, the Kestrel, headlong, head-on
Into the wind, fast and flapping:
A moth against the pane.
Down along the sheltered hedgerow
The sharp tick of Song Thrushes
And the softer slurs of Blackbirds:
Wraiths seeking red fruits, fallen
And unfallen.
Black-spotted sycamores - pox marked
Leaves trembling as Goldcrests pick
The wreckage of webs, and insects
From stem and twig and bark,
Whispering their moving, blinking
From shadow to light.
And above, the wind roars on,
Bending the world on a whim.
Snapped branches lie: whale bones on the strand.
Above, the rushing scud of foamy surf: clouds blowing,
Suds flecking the blue.
Redwings sound danger: a Sparrowhawk slips between
The wreck of the trees and a single Redpoll spirals up
Catching the roar, and gone.
The corpse of the copse: skeletal remains
Of the flesh-stripped boughs.
A low sun snagged in the net of the thorn,
And, beyond, the Kestrel, headlong, head-on
Into the wind, fast and flapping:
A moth against the pane.
Down along the sheltered hedgerow
The sharp tick of Song Thrushes
And the softer slurs of Blackbirds:
Wraiths seeking red fruits, fallen
And unfallen.
Black-spotted sycamores - pox marked
Leaves trembling as Goldcrests pick
The wreckage of webs, and insects
From stem and twig and bark,
Whispering their moving, blinking
From shadow to light.
And above, the wind roars on,
Bending the world on a whim.