ISSN 1758-6488
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Three Poems Poetry |
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Bittern Étude
Listen
I know you are there
the eyes of the hide
unclip open
you are walking
out of sight
in microtones
and diminished octaves
the wind is singing
and the tune is beyond me
the path from your nest
to the water forms
a twelve-tone sequence
only you follow
the splayed feet going
chromatically there
there and there
your splash
untuning the far thud
of rush hour to natural static
this is not music
this is what
will have been music
after wait
and it does not come
one call away
who do not call
not yet
you
subtlest most hidden
long neck scything
what escapes you
by reedbed isthmus or lake
stationed over
the Brigid’s cross
of your nest of reeds showing
concealing
a clutch of deep olive
eggs
where have I not looked for you
for the moment
your camouflaged eye
breaks cover
listened for you
spirit of the haunted milk bottle
sunk in the centre
of your slow-
expanding rippling
if only
but unheard
booms!
and I clip shut the eyes
of the hide
stand in the dark
and is this not blindness?
this is not
blindness I am
the last image
on the retina
of a closed eye
in darkness
there is nothing
to hear and this
is music
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