The Coda

Can you hear it –

were you listening?

The circle; the circles; the circling;

every knocker, every piskie, every birch

and raven and jackdaw and dunnock

and droplet and flower and root

and lark and bluebell and feather

and flea – the chanting salmon,

the whistling sea – the blowing buzzard

and buzzing bee – the rattle of Crow –

the humming lent lily, perhaps

the harping robin, the tattle of

marram grass, or the river’s

weaving, winding, bubbling story?

None so loud as the belting gorse,

conducting its needles and

ringing bells hoarse –

to repeat its sound,

is to make yourself a limb –

just another verse, another circle,

in this ever-curling three hare hymn;

so roll your breath and mark the curdle,

the cycle has once more begun,

upon this earth –

upon this portion –

they run, they run, they run…

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