Heathland

In the supine truth of his mercy

In the lauded king of the earth

The sallow willow wallows

Down in the mouth

The peat mounds sting in the rain

And damp bark shines black against itself

Sordid sinews of brambles

Conspire to bring

The snakes from beneath the beaten panel

And cowering low the bindweed winds

Soundless to the Sires’ minds

Of the headless hawks

And scruffy crows

Which spread across the old rail road

And chainless seas

Which toss and turn

Far beyond the chalice stone

To comb the pond

And pound the bone

Of dead saints as of badgers

Their scent of flowers pearling crust

In the hallowed graveyard’s dust

And they cheered in transient sun rays trust

That call them to their meaning

And far beyond gravels cliff

That gives rise to the ghostly mist

A fern is praised

As a dew lipped kiss

And candle light draws another Eden