Is An Island
A cobbling of time & inspired
egos – to build on Ethelstan’s
raised court above his Ouse –
& other histories laid out – As
ship timbers sag & high flints
fall – as time’ll remind us all –
nothing remains upright – all
wicker-work rotted – flood &
threatened plagues dragged
on Hamsey’s shores – We are
more visitors to Saint Peter’s
greeting of God – Cephas & a
rock entwined in name – See
where an auld railway line is
buried – another grave – with
a headstone of bricks – laid a
route long-dead from Lewes
& up to where I lie [in Sussex
& in bed] – We were dragged
[by art & dogs] to an island &
on – oiled wood took me off –
to time’s score – But now is a
fingering of flesh – horizontal
little death by sex – preludes
to that turned earth & stone –
before it is so we will scale to
other raised places – our way