On Dartmoor

Silent moving

small rounds,

sheep keep close in the darkening rain

making their way slowly

upwards on the moor.

Grass and stone

blade and solid groove

worn loose in places

by feet and hoof

and every type of weather.

When she died

I walked and cried here,

the wildness of the weather

catching the sound

and sweeping it upwards

to the rolling wind.

Afterwards, I felt her

as a starling sang and sang

piercing light

into the grey damp.

If I Cannot Get There

Ancient and young all at once

I believed in my books as a child

I felt the salt of the sea on my tongue

and dived in to the taste of it

Free and clean, my dream, the water clear

I stroked the colours of fish and slithered my way through greens

Then curled my knees to my toes and quick! up to straight

in an upwards dive

I left the sea floor

bouncing lightly

head shot up and out to breathe

bird-like

above the white waves.

There was bounteous air in these dreams

Out of the water, to

blues and greens, flying leaves

Trails through scrub and tree and dirt

Lifted up,

Golden wings or blue

Sky Eagle or Kingfisher.

I fly still now, to the highest most peaks, and jump off

Bouncing on clouds like lollipops

I soar over the sun and leap the points of stars

Then light-kissed by time, over to the pyramids

Where I land and slide bump

down to earth

This is only the beginning of where I can go,

If I cannot get there.