From far higher than
aural trigonometry tells,
the ventriloquist lark
sings into space.

Listen to the living things
interrupt the fling of wind
cut across flint ground.

Panta Rhei - Everything Streams

The impossibility of repetition

Everything streams
yet everything seems infinitely divisible.
Sunshine beams outside
light scatters through trees and fallen leaves.

Step into the stream.
Particles teem in shoals, weave in flux and pass, until
in rain they fall again
where change leaves nothing the same.

Light scatters through trees and fallen leaves.
Sunshine beams outside.
Everything seems infinitely divisible;
yet everything streams.

Parallax.............
Every time I move
.............Parallax

One thousand four hundred and fifty or so paces,
more or less. Walking with a Braille-reader’s feet.
Reading as the flex and dimple of rubber describes
the intimate relief of the land; feeling for the Earth
through thin shoe soles.

Cross the lower meadow and where four fields meet at the rise of the mount, three mixed hedges have grown tall and hollow around the fences. Mount the stile, feeling the rub of its smooth hand-oiled post as you step over, off and up to a higher bank; ducking into the hollow thicket of the bower. The thorny passage, leading up several rough-cut dirt steps contains a tangled history: fragments of weathered oak posts and split rails pinned with short twists of old and broken, rust-brown barbed wire; threaded and stapled with new. Pause to hide in the airy cage then feel a compression of intensity as you stoop under the last slim branches and out to face open skies that rise above the far crest of the upper meadow.

Oxygen enough
to fuel sixteen steps per breath;
one inhalation.