tin fence - Gillian Swain - #11

rusty tin fence lives in moonlight
corrugations and cold
dew runs like tears down to black-dirt feet
and hands all the same and the earth is
unraveling like a womb opening
dark night mother sings up from there
sky 
into sky
and why not

all the whispers stay
you only have to listen
darkness is never empty

lean into it
tight-necked shoulders threaten to choke
maybe it's true what they say about pain and its gift
the vice will loosen if you give it a nod
it'll soon be on its way

and there's always morning

sears off the dew
warm tin
dry grass
soft earth solid

there's always morning