…somewhere beyond horizons,
a voice still calls for hounds lost in time’s evaporating mist…
After rain, the lane remains the same:
straddlebone and fern struck,
tweed-moss, mizzled,
and bulging with bogwhistles
My scars cringle in the damp,
and she's playing blues
on a fiddleswift breathmist,
chasing unseen spirits
We scamper damp across the sands
Dodging wide-woven ripplerivers
no deeper than reflections
Contemplative as swishing clouds…
…they suddenly burn
with sky-diamonds set in beaten gold -
sending a cast of moving players
across my heart
across her opaline eyes
They drag my soul
from moment to fragment
as their glister gives way
tugging my emotive gaze
to a new tale
While she leaps, shimmer coat,
Celtic muse
over gasping boughs
She draws my mind
stroking her warm deep chest
and I think she thinks
we know each other's feelings
Her asking eyes fix time
and mine -
I answer: “I do”
And my touch on her cow-brown brow
closes light-lashed lids,
like a cocktail drunk
Then, she shakes her castanet collar
and breaks the spell…