Cleeve Common

Where the wind carries its full weight & sound

past listening ears, high above the hands of town

nature’s untethered bodies run free and rule


among burrow & scrub & tree, clear fairways

over hills scored by favoured paths, dappled

by sheep & shadow. Somewhere out of sight


a handful of songbirds sign the air with music,

trickling all the way along to a sudden silence,

a mother moans location for her wandering lamb,


a lonesome bee is pulled by a blur of wings

through busy courses of blossom & long grass

and disappears into that same blown silence.


A rabbit stops. Close in the clearing. Sits still

to check my stillness. Moves on only when

my gaze moves on.


On to an eventual return. The town spread flat

far below: a measured cluster of trees, roofs,

the sounds of ceaseless life & what we choose


to leave behind – that even

in acknowledging starts to

pull us back.