Waterloo

(July 2015)

Liquid sunset

The horizon of a landscape

Half-tamed, half-wild

You rest your head on my thigh

On the canoe-shaped deck

I am scanning the battle map

Clinching flanks
On the fields of Waterloo
The jagged blade of the war grinder

Turning far away from a woman’s world

That never extended beyond

The polished edge

Of the dinner table

I wish I had a map 
For our own Waterloo

Or is it just water rumbling

Under the bridge

Midsummer lull suits mosquitoes

As it suits the stunted wrens

That flit in and out sight 

My spirit exposed to their beauty 

Like the holly bush with suspended roots

I’m running out of solid ground

Longing for this thick fleece of life

To cover me

In generous layers

A blanket I can pull around me

Until the oak sapling has thickened

I want to hear your voice
So name the birds for me
One by one

But not the blackbird

Lying outside your door

Not the blackbird