whose trail
Tight- rope wate-r sod
oak leaf on spread thistle point
its own fairytale
prick to sleep
to dissolve to
Swirl
swirl of mud in upraised leaf water
swirl of ash vapour inside and outside body
swirl and moisture
folding in and under
dissolve and form and dissolve
bare hedge opening
walk wide legged, soft footed
ground sogging at each step
boot, foot, rooting upwards
my legs allow the feet to go
mud descent
dry hooked hawthorn
wind blown off course
stand firm and low
allow mud slippage
head caught, hand caught
gather-puddles
Trees
torn off branches
take large ones and untangle
hook them on body twice
one falls
a piece stays like hair
other falls on top
a graceful shaping of lines
a coupling
the loose part
some forgotten memories
I hang on living low branch
to be in air
the next broken branch
I hook it hangs
the last larger one
I push up through empty branches till it sticks
move away
three hanging limbs
then the large one falls to earth
as winded trees do
not meant to stay
or try to mend
the broken branches
so many bits to break off
what is left
the autumn tree enjoying the sun
and deep down replenishing its roots for spring
Place a wind fallen branch on each wooden fence post
balanced in the middle so they sway
building my own trees
my inability to recreate nature
I imitate it
Mending?
making with broken bits
man -tampered
wind -witched
Hand -gathered
How to repair
I build a row of trees
from broken pieces
probably the only way
in this world’s story
dead vines
seem fragile
these entanglements
are strong and ungiving
they want to hold on
