Tracey Gunne And A Mother's Fanciful Architecture
Imaging of Interior Structure
So hard to imagine
these thin white lines are bones
and these crazy shapes
eloquent as shadow on water
will be arms I will hold
and eyelids I will kiss
and a heart I will know
After six months I feel you
move inside, touching all
the dark corners you created
At first I dreamed you
some kind of nymph
moving patiently like a spider
building yourself a temporary home
and I wondered if you were scared
in the loneliness of my womb
pressed against some invisible light
like tiny stars
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Green Man in midwinter
Green Man’s bone weary.
His breath stinks of ditchwater
and half-bletted sloes.
His cuffs are full of leaf mould.
Frost tendrils snake through his beard.
Fierce ice-rimed owl calls
waken him grimly at dawn.
There’s no rest for him –
the world in its winter sleep
turns inside his wakefulness.
Rain slips down his neck,
but Green Man keeps on walking.
Nothing’s growing now
but the kingdom of the dark.
He’s beating the bounds for us,
holding his lantern
against the lowering sky,
a song of hard-won patience,
a song of the earth, turning.
gulls body the wind
tilting through the leaf-spirals
in the fling of trees
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