pastoral

Motes drawn
in the bright illumined day,
golden dancers
hazard in their given eternity,
dogwood, quickthorn, oak and ash
a wall of shadows raise,
and beyond, the meadowsweet
and the multitude of grass.
beyond the living precipice,
the great divide,
a realm of light-anointed entities:
the gold-strewn, mown meadow
exhales
deep airs from old summers,
golden seeds of the wild crop
scintillate and shimmer
with songs of glad grain
from the hand quern,
gold clouds of oak fronds
glimmer royally,
gorgeously,
golden light deftly
delineates the deep sward,
in this brief window of summertime.
intimations of eternity
here are palpable,
the light beyond the light
ineffable,
as close but illusive
as the living air.
England.
Before the bright evening
of your shining
I fill with the memory of tears.
in your still beauty,
something silent stirs
from the strewn, mown hay,
and speaks
of unknown hands, of lives departed
that once
worked and slept and laughed and wept
and lived this living land.
England.

light changes everything.

A shotgun shatters the sky’s pane,
the moment’s past.

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