Inspiration.

Quick, so the intensity’s not lost,
Hang out the white nets,
Wild birds won’t wait for ripeness,
Enough to sack a city.

The New Year nets I hung round
My apple trees, stopped a hawk,
A bat-hung, watchful windsock,
Daring me to stand my ground.

Nets,cut loose, had half disguised
Old heretic painted eyes,
Silt the Saviour, Set divides,
Godhead. Gaping, mesmerised.

This Moor’s murderer overcrowds my mind.
Mark how this ghost has undermined our rhyme,
Before Osiris, my race, already old,
Had ushered daylight, turned the sky, old mole!

I am an eel in the river,
I am an oak in the forest,
I am the felloes of Heaven,
I am the passage of light.

I’ve set my nets in the mind’s eye,
Alert for the blur
Of tachyon, meteor,
A windfall of passage hawks.

IRA MAINE