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Last year’s capers, an old roué
he stared a night light
felled and silent
He shot the shad birds
reed sons, lute herds
He shot a lime stone beak for me

We watched the sea hens
peach-cocks, soar-ups
the kitty wrens, the litter hawks
We held our knees
and saw below
the bones of terns and bellow geese

Stone swans and grebes
some pickled doves
he smashed
a litmouse gull for me

Oh, we cannot foam, we cannot catch
the lies, wing wraps
the upturned night.
The broken fence, a smashed phone box
a clifftop cull on Beachy Head
The waves below
our roar
our shame
our grave last night, last year, today

The broken night
the necks, our bones
our bodies chalked
the sky late gone
We stole ring tags
of birds, our names
the beds of birds
of cranes, away

A hurtled dove
throat thrushed and warped
he wrenched
the salt cold love off me

© 2006 Jane Ormerod