homepage

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Pastoral

 

 

 

Fixing things slowly, the spider spacewalks.

 

 

 

On petals' wet metal daybroken clouds

 

bleed and leave. Objects

 

 

 

are the same in being not the same, down to

 

roots in air, tongues, fibres.

 

 

 

A fencepost surfaces in a misty field.

 

 

 

When I move inside my clothes

 

the electricity is being

 

 

 

gathered in screens.

 

Crawling towards the sky,

 

 

 

the tree earths its fruit in us.

 

The grass at the miniature hour is brittle,

 

 

 

mathematical birds are not singing for you.

 

Brain is crumpled inside

 

 

 

and statements fall like crows, predominant

 

ash of person as the lyrical wind

 

 

 

bewilders the leaves.

 

 

 

The burnish grass and stalked birds

 

and trumpet-tongued flowers and livestock,

 

 

 

all alive, listening, are full of their meat.

 

 

 

[Giles Goodland is the author of Capital (Salt, 2006), A Spy in the House of Years (Leviathan, 2001), Overlay (Odyssey, 1999) and Littoral (Oversteps, 1996). He lives in London and works in Oxford.]

Copyright © 2009 by Giles Goodland, all rights reserved. This text may be used and shared in accordance with the fair-use provisions of Copyright law. Archiving, redistribution, or republication of this text on other terms, in any medium, requires the notification of the journal and consent of the author.