A sunny day consoles,
yet from the coast road,
Sunday is a pulsing thrum:
wheeled waves parade
through domains
of chaffinch and wood pigeon.
High golden willows
want to fly the breeze,
but tethered resile
to sway in feathery dance.
In transports of silences,
from the marsh, terns and curlews
rasp and pull like the tides.
So warm the sun,
so golden-green,
blossom-bedecked,
bird-sung the garden,
the why of our going seems
a prison of pittances.
..
YOU ARE READING
Bare Shouldered
Poetry"The difference of high Sensations with and without knowledge appears to me this - in the latter case we are falling continually ten thousand fathoms deep and being blown up again without wings and with all [the] horror of a bare shouldered Creature...
