on an ordinary night it will happen:
the thud of a culmination
from the moon-silvered grasses
followed only by hours and years of
rapture stretches the length of sound
offering a sacrament to the sky’s alter,
a pillar of mist eroding the landscape-
it will arise with becoming a time
capsule, never aged beyond impulsion
as years are cemented.
the deepest places lie open now;
a long dark: staggering off across
a space where the hills level, this is
an ache that will claw at the mind
and strike down the source of any
the heightened mound, a turret
entrenched further in the crossroad
as all longing pierces
leaping from this world to the next.
from Rain Season.
Note: ‘Becoming a Time Capsule’ borrows a line form Harry Fainlight’s poem ‘Wolstonbury’.