The ground, though frozen
Vibrates at a frequency
Hard to discern
To tune in to
You hold your breath
For the harmonic, synchronous
On the field's longing tongue
Drawn in a wave by the
Swallows' sky sweeps
Each season in microcosm
Rises and sleeps
The song plays on
The song plays on
Stuart this is simple and sweeps me into a lovely holding spell sort of space. Nice.
ReplyDeleteI second that emotion, mate.
ReplyDelete