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.
Monday, 18 November 2013
hiss or kiss?
We're walking in the dimpsey, Dog and I. The bank, made of huge granite boulders, glows in the near-dark and seems to shift and move like a herd of small cows, or sheep; and it's easy to see why the stone circles in the West, leftovers from the late Neolithic or early Bronze Age, acquire names like 'The Grey Wethers', and – so legend has it – have even been sold as just that, a flock of sheep.
Below me somewhere there's a plaintivity of gull-song on the night, and a single curlew.
Full moon through mackerel cloud now, and the sea's coat's ruffled like that of a silver tabby in the offshore breeze. The sea's gentle, rolling and purring, shugging its back like a huge sea-serpent might.
A single trawler sets out, green light winking at the great silence it enters. Just one trawler; so few fish.
My coat is night, and gorse, and splinters. My coat is wire and wind and salt.
I am not a supplicant, and today I won't bow down. There's an energy in my solar plexus that I recognise as fire and ice. I like it. I speak and write and go to Wild; but I have become tame. For nearly 40 years I've practised kindness, patience, understanding; I've learned forbearance. Now, I'm learning to growl. My bedrock's granite; conductive, radioactive, enduring.
I have teeth. Come close; meet me if you dare.
I've teeth. Hiss or kiss? Meet me, but beware.
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