This time

[Guest guest]

If I tattooed this message on my skin

and tore it off

to let it dry in the cold wind.

 

A sign for hungry birds to feed

and in the night the worms.

 

Leaving nothing but these bones

buried under leaves and moss

until the magpie sings;

 

Something's shining in the sun

next to a forest path.

 

Along you run.

Tie them to a stick,

paint them bright

with any colour that your like.

 

 

 

 

 

Rattle shaking,

this time, remembering;

 

Each day the cat walks

through the same field

 

Each day a green mile is passed,

on this crust

of bodies turned to dust.

 

And as the swans land

on the clear lake below.

 

All that is seen has already been.

 

Appearing,

disappearing,

from the same seed everything

in this echoing of perfection.

..

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

this time Alan