Leafy afternoons

Nothing to please the gizzard, so let it
rest. I saw your flesh coming & I hid.
Fates conspire, no mercy. Steel eagle, light
as a cloud; everyone mixed up & spread
around. Nicked by the briar, nursed wound, in-
finite space, a chestnut. Singularity
riven on a wire. When I want to chip
away at you the heaviness of artifice
weighs down my hand, leaving it unsteady
& I withdraw. Cut the week in half with
a grass blade; the empty chug of Monday,
dredged out. I’d never seen such a minty
bicycle. A cheerful sprite caught in a
cartwheel. Don’t wait I’ll catch you up. Meet me
in the middle of the air & we can
descend into the dark stacks together
where we will touch down like two fair arrows.

Greenery as a prism of feeling

When the cherry trees wilted under the weight of expectation,
the air was sticky like New Orleans.
There was a disagreement about the colourfulness of moths.
Someone spoke up for the beauty of a single leaf.
Disputations followed about seeing & not seeing.
We marvelled at the cooling power of the beech leaves.
Thereupon a calculation to establish the relative humidity.
Laid out in the grass musing upon the world’s soft nothings.
If electricity can run through the body then why not today?
No-one can sleep in this heat.
Some plastic cups fell over & were placed in the
washing-up bowl.
I promise I’ve never really cried.
In the evening the clouds were full of noises.

Movement / presence

Something comes through to me sometimes     through
your eyes     wordless     I cannot make
any progress with it     in words    
from behind your eyes     in waves    
will it last     to quieter days    
I would like      no speaking    
so comforting inside     when the rain falls    
hard on the panes of glass     like fingertips     tapping    
reading     with closed eyes     the passages
of time     the arrangements of days     varying    
unable to say     what is    & is not real    
a question kept     for quieter days     I’ve
never really reached you     except in words    
everything I say     I overthink     past
& future speech     around you or with you
won’t last     outlast the waves     outlast
the rain     no real trace     I want to leave a trace
sudden shift     impossible sky

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Simon Ravenscroft lives in Cambridge, England. He’s published poems recently with Heavy Feather Review, The Inflectionist Review, Full House Literary, Apocalypse Confidential, ē·rā/tiō, and Osmosis Press, among others. He’s a Fellow of Magdalene College at the University of Cambridge, working in philosophy and religion, and has a website at: simonravenscroft.haus