Sunset from a Train
this land sings clear as a bell to mehumming like a tree
her voice might
farrow a fat litter
of glassy brown fruit in May
if planted
the song is light
as though scooped
from the sky and is deeply
the health of my cousins
the humour of their das
hot things under the slick
dark grass and spent brambles
are comforted by rain
from slow and cowy clouds
blackbirds are sitting
on the hay bales
she nods sublime at the
dull thud of a hoof on grass
August 2008