July winds heave
disarming
end-of-summer tang
flush distant city's sins elsewhere
it does make sense to gaze
smoke trails cut to
sped sparingly proportionate
the aural undertow
enters my newly-mown field of vision
where a murder of crows
for most of the week
a safe distance from the plough
far from sky and all its stars
the sound is caught up
in one end row turn acoustic trough
where the share forces
the barking of gulls breaking shells
bivalves cracked at dawn
on patchy Margate camber
the hollow wail
of the Omniscient Mussel
lost little ones
smashed to bits
day after day
at least these rakish crows
just tear root stubble
from the ground
with pointless unkindness
at night Callisto turns circadian
cartwheels round the valley
hill darkness softens sleep's steepness
reduces the crows' percentage of black hell
for what they done
Shiva shrugs holds back a wink
ingress to where my nerves won't reach
Valverde August 2007