Walk 2

Walk 2 Newton Ferrers

i.
slid between the walled stones,
pummeled, purple hazel,
thunder nettle hoards
licking lily calves.

Took the cracked path right,
startled birds, shattered stones,
became one with a field of rape
I longed to cease to be in.

There's snow upon moor,
can see it from the border edge,
wonder if Tors go thawing
beneath static, cirrus clouds.

- rest with the rest, where I was meant,
so yellow meets blue meets cream,
one bee erratically races,
spring beating on her wing.

The sky is disturbed by a plane,
soil speaks of farming season.
There's a pheasant and a skylark,
the keen ear wakes to seek them.

All is without embellishment and endless,
seeps into a desire to become more,
no intended harm nor disquiet,
expansiveness to every side.

ii.

Do you bask in the devil-light,
the veil of rape in Spring,
the half here, half elsewhere,
barely seen snow
edging for your pulse,
to slow to a stop?
Do you too edge for oblivion,
seek out a place to be alone,
become marble
when the view,
quite plain,
echoes calm
in the terribleness of a soul?
Do you linger
in a skylark's throat
hoping it'll baptise you
a better someone?