Alison Croggon's weblog

A poem

tomorrow the birds with yellow tongues
will fly in stony ground
tomorrow the gestures of children
will write themselves across different airs
the play will begin again with strange limbs
the clouds will distribute new myths
to every class of creature

fossils with fangs and claws are hiding
in the mineral depths of every eye -
will they glance through the purities?
will they lie down together at last
purring in a green garden?
or will the doctors in their white coats
put them out of their pain?

you look for a naked voice and find
knives and chemical smoke and words
buried like corpses in a ruined garden
and yet the heart is fed
on the lazy perfume of a smile
which vanishes as you turn to embrace
this momentary sky, these vapours