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.