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.