Time was I kept it all for you,
but you didn't break me quite in two,
hell though the slow dying was of us,
vision tunneled, deep despairing, - all the cuss.
Now I'm giving it away to the birds,
to the grasses, trees and skies, the curl of words,
anywhere I can give your love away
I do, from fixed hedgerows to dunes astray.
My free hound Hate chases memories lying in wait,
coursing, twisting back to that skirling gate.
But there is some peace: late sun on the elder tree,
sparrows emerging so elegantly,
and all summer's rich embroidery.
Myth doffs her wings: the moths fly free.
