from BARDO

The stars are in our belly; the Milky Way our umbilicus.

Is it a consolation that the stuff of which we’re made

is star-stuff too?

– That wherever you go you can never fully disappear –

dispersal only: carbon, hydrogen, nitrogen, oxygen.

Tree, rain, coal, glow-worm, horse, gnat, rock.

Roselle Angwin

Wednesday, 8 April 2015

that single goose (poem)

A little late for the equinox, but still a poem that I like. I was reminded by the voice of a lone goose in the valley this morning, as the rivermist began to thin. (Usually there are two, so I guess his mate is nesting.)

Vernal Equinox

Those days of ice and fire have scorched or thawed their way
into temporary absence, along with the blades of wind.
Yesterday a snipe startled from among the woodland margins

and something like hope rekindled itself in the trees.
This morning, at the fulcrum of dark and light, after the night
and its absences, the birdtable wore a corona of bluetits,

and the pied garb of the pair of woodpeckers drew together
an alchemy of night and day, the hint of convergence,
their tails flashing red like passion in the drizzly dawn.

Now this pot of tea by the window; buzzard launching
from the tall ash; single goose heading up the valley
out of the mist, surfing the first wave of light.

© Roselle Angwin (in All the Missing Names of Love


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