The cross on the Chevin
3. Ascension Day
I have watched these three years
and to the day they come back
intent on the air above our roofs
above our heads where we loaf
tonight with no more to do
than kick over the crack-up
of adjoining paths
neighbourly plans at the margin
And into our fine silences
they fly the whispering
of returned swallows
beats in under the eaves of a house
you laugh has been leaning
further and further
every year you remain
Believing it will not fill tonight
children separately stowed
our shut-eyed sons and daughters
we are
their shambolic crew
turning out on deck to watch
the dwindling of light
the shift and swell beneath
the homecoming of birds
staking out their soft periodic
Page(s) 28
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- Pen Pusher Magazine
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- Poetry Salzburg Review
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- Second Aeon
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- Shearsman
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- Staple
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