The Jackdaws
that summer-clear
fall of cliff to sand, too far
from a road to be invaded
this is our country, where
rowans ripen
and gulls wrangle distantly over
old nest-sites on red ledges
where a white feather lifts
through the idle air
beyond the creek
another rock-spit juts, sleekly
groomed by sun and sea,
brown fronds of kelp lick down
at each tide-turn
here increase is mutual
and endless, vegetable
bird, fish, mineral
only sea varies
only the jackdaws over the cliffs
are marginal, they come and go
land birds lured by a dimension
they can never know
they bow to the water
it replies, fluent with reflections,
waves curl in the sea’s arms
down to the green sea floor
that drowns their answer
Page(s) 36
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