IN EVERY SENSE

Wheatfield poppies wear the dawning
of the moon on lifted faces;
earth sun-heated since the morning
now exhales its mocking traces
of the day. From far field edges
steals a smell of elder blooming
in the brier-cabled hedges
under cumulus, high-pluming.
Breathe returning drifts of scent
summer's oracle has lent.

Rubbing palms, the leaves are singing,
trick the soul with strange compunction,
beech twigs sawing, green twigs clinging
while the blackbird's final unction
spills upon the dying summer
in a waterfall of quavers.
Listen to the woodland drummer;
bark explodes, and then he wavers.
Hear refrains which resonate
over claims of love and hate.

Hidden strawberries uncovered
snaking redly under vetches
roll their sharpness scarce discovered
on the tongue. Beyond them stretches
leaning darkness over rushes:
try the willow's anaesthesia.
Sorrel's sourness swiftly crushes
on the palate's kind amnesia.
Taste the bitter and the sweet,
hedgerow sloe and grain of wheat.

Barefoot, kick dry leaves in showers;
pass your hand across the mosses;
finger tender skin of flowers;
sense your gains, discount your losses.
Nerves ephemeral as petals
register the vibrant tissue
of the lichens and the nettles
waiting in the dark to kiss you.
Feel the corrugated bark
and the feather of the lark.

Open wide your hungry pupils;
let them sleep upon the beeches,
void of guilt or smarting scruples.
Memorise the bough that reaches
for the driving cloud, the ridge's
abdomen, the one and only
hawthorn navel and the midges
dancing sun-gilt, high and lonely.
See both firmaments unite
all the senses under sight.