The night is like the quiet surrounding
The cry of a solitary seabird or
An imploding hunger tearing a soul
Without a trace of sadness.
There is a draft of sun in the oceans
A mute conversation about destiny.
In this nagging desolate irony
Glaciers drift invisibly towards
The naked warmth of trees and
Roaring dawnlights slip in between
There is a moody and graceful comfort
In the frosted breath of a dark night.
So trusting in its soft whimpering
Like a grouse on the fells.
Days borrow light from those hidden pockets
Lined with whispered evening prayers
Of loneliness and need.
It is as though the mist-shrouded peaks
Outnumber the clouds,
Leaning victorious over the bat infested sky.
Those high-pitched cries carry echos;
A chorus of redemption
Shooting across the night like a shower of stars.
And you stand there as old as humanity
Smothered between naked fields
While your perfected dreams, gilded like icons,
smash like glass pearls against rocks.
Within, a gull’s dirty wing begin to sketch
A thousand green islands.
A new life is hiding in the shadows
Of graystones, colors
Waiting to burst forth
into the muted spring.
Perhaps it is time for you
To clear away those stones
And move them to somewhere
They can be fishing rocks
For pond frogs.