Inside My Lover
I am entertained inside her lento lungs –
travelling alone and partly dusk-blind –
within her low suck of cooling breath –
I inhale her exhale of purest oxygen
and with it comes an unwinding –
an expansion of my otiose senses –
an awareness of this as existing –
of living things set around – but
obscured by the falling of the hour –
Now the manic chp-chp-chp-chp-chp
of panicked blackbirds to one side –
joined by the rude crows overhead –
that tuneless duet of birdsong is overlaid
on itself by others’ alarms and queries
which set off – concentric – around me –
As I tread – as I compact the leafy mucus –
which she absorbs into her membrane –
the fallen are re-sown by the plough
of my steps on this weaved footpath –
Her cold stew of re-use – of rotting down –
is nature’s re-design – it is not random –
be it the branched capillary urge
of saplings – or the fork of tipped boughs –
or the patterning of her cast off leaves –
already thick enough to hide the paths –
Now on cinders I miss the give of the mulch –
the weighted compress and its last sound