Dartmoor, April 1996

  A cutpurse plucks at the sky
  and tugs on its pocket. Stunned suns

  sprinkle the gorse, like sparks
  diving from heaven's jetty.

  There is rain on our faces.
  Breezes have made them pale into

  sheer significance. And standing stones
  are at angles, thumbs and obelisks

  and anvils. We follow the floorshow,
  the bright coins, the blue grey

  parachutes billowing over the moor.
  These hills are happy to swelter,

  their snub knuckles dusted
  with the sweet glister of tears.

  We're together, gasping, as petals
  of flame illumine our shoulders,

  dancing. We gaze through the frayed
  surface of sky, see whirlwinds,

  a canyon of space. Nothing quakes
  but the universe, naked,

  and our sudden, brilliant skin.
  Everything's buzz. I love you,

  our bodies are rhapsodies, laughter
  under rumbling bolts of blaze.

From the book Looks Familiar