All One Summer Breath

In the body of this room
her scent, like poetry,
has no expiry date

The night can be an elderberry darkening
veins collecting lightning from earth’s scatterings,  
apricot lozenge scrapes
weary embers from my throat,
guitars of orchard flesh
wait to be plucked in summer rain

Coffee and cigarette rush-hour
breaks sunday’s silent hym(e)ns,
torn notebook pages pulpit my feet
like white maps of the world before creation

Teething my three tongues
to colours of your one voice,
words fuck frost from the windows

Tim Buckley unbuttons poppies of her red dress,
as my fists plunge into cold water
to peel the earth from potatoes

Beyond something like a thousand fields
crest of Snowdon unfurls a satin carpet,
and something far less
water swills in a crossing of waves

Hushed is the equation of distance
silenced are the lambs