09 August 2011


Job 8/9

Sharp against metal
the woodpecker is clearly confused
is waking the deathwatches from
their dark hollow ladder

Lying in bed the comforter is light
it is July and the trees shake themselves
the dog is chasing something small
and chipmunk-like into some brush

The river flooded its banks
it took the sand moved it there
and buried the new flowers
up to their stamens

The steady rhythm of the tapping
of beak on abandoned rungs
is a clock winding up
is the hiccup before fresh breath

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