Dull grey through a thorn hedge,
Misty dawn along a cliff’s edge –
The quick foot kicks the peg.
Ape-tailed bracken in a small world,
Empty falling of a stone hurled –
the wire noose spans the jump.
AND THE SALT-WHITE WIND
ON THE NEW CLIFF FIELD
SHIFTS IN A LINE
ON THE TRACTORED DIRT –
A ROCK TORN SIGH
IN THE COWERING HEDGE,
AND THE RAVENS LIFT
ON THE RAINWALL’S RIM . .
THE ISLAND SHIVERS AT THE TOUCH OF DAWN . . . .
Calm seas in the black bays,
White track on the tide-race –
A death’s head rides the rain.
Face down to the day’s life,
Fur splays off a brown knife –
The rain falls on the stare . .