After Dylan Thomas, from An English Garden on Beltane Eve, 2014


Mind clusters, garden roots green and glowing

Thick in my throat, memories of times forward

Fernhill potent, wordstruck, clambering tendrils


Eyepools of happiness, yellow eyed feral beasts

We sing in our chains, claws intact

As animals go extinct, we cry stop no more


Down the long haul, towards all our deaths

We do rage against this night of our making

The fire bright, horns askew, owls call our names


Too many too few too much too little

Too late sings the blackbird deep in my doom

Too soon the summer and then the winter


We shall fall asleep

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