I've noticed how the curlews on the campus,
winter afternoons, form a frieze against the hill's
low trees to watch the sun decline.
They bask like basilisks, heraldic birds as still
as sentinels, beneath the same bedraggled
screen of melaleucas, year on year.
Today, the thirtieth of June, in wintry glitter
they appear, beneath a sky to die for,
lucent blue too pristine to compare:
eight gatekeepers who scan me
with a lynx-eyed, motionless aplomb,
salute sun's molten eidolon,
await the rising of the moon...
Curlews, winter afternoon
© Copyright: Jena Woodhouse, 2007
Свидетельство о публикации №107063000747
Свидетельство о публикации №107063000747
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