73

I was eating cereal when I

Heard a concussion above me

And turning in my seat I

Saw a blackbird roll down the

Conservatory roof jerking and

The wing caught under the

Body was impeding its fall.

It came down irregular and

Quickly and hit the gutter and

Fell extended in mock flight,

And its neck broke as it met

The concrete paving. I sat

And finished my cereal and I

Drank a glass of orange juice

And went out to look where it

Had come down. It was limp

And the eyes hollow and wind

And the dusk teased feathers

From its open neck and I saw

It was this year's young, dead.

I lifted its body and loose head

From the ground and carried it

Still warm and in spasm over

The ditch out back and I laid

It among nettles and dry weed

And blackberry and I left it out

There in a dimming atmosphere.

72

He came from the right

Skirting his man and the

Lane was open so he put

His head down and turned

The corner and as he came

Rearing into the air above

The paint Grant and Jordan

Went up like red sentinels

And his slight form hove

Into their uprising and he

Crammed it into the net

At his far extent and fell

Into their shoulders and it

Was on their faces as they

Fell in the elapsing seconds

How they had been abused.

71

All night old Mr Grace was

Out by the verge picking the

Cucumbers he grew in the dust

Of the road his head low in

The extent of passing beams of

Cars and his hands making slow

And violently abrupt motions in

Turn as he sought and cropped

The fattest and the furthest ones

And as we watched as children

From the upstairs window half

Occluded by the sickened halo of

Out father's old sycamore and saw

His hands fasten on the tubers

We knew some berserk was there

Working on old Grace in the dark,

Farming at midnight and his old

Girl gone and his car written off

And his hands irregular with white

Polyps and knots and growths the

Fruit of his absurd agriculture.

70

There was rain in the trees

And the branches were moving

And he said lets hide and he

Disappeared into the branches

But I could still see him a white

Shape with smears of mud

And his hand come out and it

Touched me and it was cold

And my cold dress clung at me

And the doves clattered away

So I come out of the rain

And the quiet was roaring and

A branch come up and wet us

And I called out and hung

On his neck and I touched his

Face and I was frightened

And then we broke and I saw

He wasn't looking at me at all

He just looked out at the rain

And down at the grit and the

Earth and I said don't, don't.

69

Smoke rifles into the air from

The tip of her cigarette and

It is as if the room fell away

Diagonally from the stationed

Smoke. The chair is leather,

Red and her bourbon is red.

The smoke veils up her face

In gouts of consistent grey

And white and her face is

Visible like a photograph behind.

She takes a sip of bourbon.

The room is still falling off,

But somehow now it is as if

A compartment in her had

Come open and the scene enclosed

In her torso, and all of it as

A diorama with articulated parts.

She drags the cigarette and it all

Charges and clarifies a moment and

The world holds fire within that space.

68

She crouches at the foot of

The bed and keeps looking at

The fixtures of the room as

If they were not well fastened

And her attitude is sprung as

If she were about to make a

Move in space and imminence

Rules her that cannot converge

On momentum and her hands

Now flicker at the emergency

And rising activate the thick air

That sings close to her body

And the room's atmosphere is

Fuel to the filament of her nerve

As she works her mind in hand

And rises half urgent on one of

Her knuckles with an ear cocked

And is static and silent there when

An obscure sound falls in one of

The communicating rooms and she

Bolts blind and crashes incoherent

From the bed and goes to ground.

67

She is there in the church door

As I bring wood up from the

South steps her body as blue

As the stone and a wind coming

Over her fattening her rags

And drawing out once more and

The rags are sour yellow clotted

With rain that is coming in from

The mountains and which falls

Into the vault of the buildings

And breaks in star shapes from

The force of stone and seems to

Stop in the air in constellations

Full and mute and far and bright.

I pass with the wood into the

Transept and her body crouches

In my stomach like a succubus

Her flesh wet and her mouth open.

66

She sleeps in a small bed

In the corner of the room

One curtain is drawn and

The window faces north so

What passes over her form

Is soft and grey and is

Of an element with her.

Shadowplay marks the terrain

And the cool daylight is

Several in the green cover

And the cover ruckles

Like a half-broken cocoon

And terminates in a shock

Of red hair pushed into a

Flower form by sleep

And her restless motion and by

The light that tangles there.

Outside is white as milk.

65

Wind comes over the maple

Stirring its boughs and rattling

The leaves and then subsides,

And the leaves nod and turn

Theirs facets this way and that

In the gulf of quiet after

And in that vacuum it seems

The tree has been plunged

Into water and the branches

Lift in a weight of fluid,

Slowly assuming another gravity,

And motion sinks into a pause

And wills nothing.

The second lapses and the

Tree is furious once more

Spilling gouts of air that

Ricochet from all quarters,

Coordinate to coordinate,

Ravelling a constant speed.

64

Colonel Dan Fulgham climbed
Into the centrifuge and they
Pulled over him black straps

Fastening them like a straight-
Jacket and sealed the chamber
And retreated to the controls
And their voices came distant
Over the intercom and asked
If he could go one more round.
He replied in the affirmative
And the monitor was moving in
And out and the engine began
To hum and the great arm came
Slowly out of its white stasis.

They got him up to 10gn and

He began to grey out and the

Edge of his vision grew black

And his face flowed back from

His bones and his eyelids began

To ripple shut so he had to force

His head back to see and at 13gn

The blood began to flow out of his

Brain and to pool in his abdomen.

He blacked out for ten seconds

And came to as they lifted his

Body from the groaning chassis

And he said nothing but he shook

Them off and walked out of there

And back down the corridors of

The compound and as soon as

He knew anything he felt that

Everything was wrong: he could

Clearly see his own body walking

Ahead of him down the corridor

And his will inhabited the image,

Animus divorced from its corpus.

And he could see it all rushing on

As if into an endless dark tunnel

And his silhouette against the light,

His uniform and the back of his

Helmet and the corridor shaking

And his own hands shaking, white.

The blood was roaring in his ears

And he vomited against the wall

And the body collapsed into it.

63

She sat in the armchair
And reached for the carton
Of cigarettes and lit one
And took the gin bottle
And poured out a measure
And smoked the cigarette
And put the bottle back
And knocked back the gin
And put out the cigarette
And lit a cigarette and she
Took the gin bottle up
And poured out a measure
And smoked the cigarette
And knocked back the gin
And put the bottle back
And put back the carton
Of cigarettes and held the
Cigarette like a dart in
Her mouth and smoked it
And her heart spoke in the
Quiet and her eyes closed.

61

The acer stings in dusklight

Its leaves like petals of tissue

Greenhearted and gaudy pink

At the extremities and moving

Frightened and fast in wind

And the song of it to the eye

Is sundown and swandown and

Burning at the eighteenth hour

The cool white of it seeming

Shreds of papier snagged on

A tree of radiating wires that

The wind is teasing gradually

Away and the pale cool is

Living somehow in the pink

That strains hotly to the eye

A snow within a livid skin.

59

The lamp was immanent
In the room and all
The room partaking of it.
He leant across the bed
And drew the coverlet
Over the boy and with
A hand evened it out
And drew away the hair
From his face and the
Lamp was immanent also
In the two dark dioramas
Of the room projected in
The boy's eyes. A founding
Light out of that distance.

He drew the boy up to
Him and he said to him
I can love you because
I love myself, child.

58

There is a gap in the blinds
And the light from it makes
Their nylon glow like marrow
As if from within, pale
And in the gap doubled glass
Is a membrane of light
Of a dull transluscence and
Through this skin is visible
A drained, pink rose that
Nods and twitches in the
Wind and the clothing of it
Green and bright and close
At its collar and the great
Body of the rosebush that
Whirls green and black like
The hydra and of which
The rose is like a wound
That thrashes through the air
Spilling gouts of light that
Petal pink and dying on the
Stones and on the raw grass
And it will not clot but only
Burn on in pale effulgence;

Through the glass it is a kind
Of frantic, silent kinema.

57

He sits hunched up smoking
A cigarette on a small stool
Ringside while the boys
Spar, watching from under
Low thatched eyebrows and
Thick bunched lids as they
Circle and jab in the pale
Light of the gymnasium
And their skinny movements
As they duck and hack at
One another and balance
On the balls of their feet
And the livid marks showing
Out on their cheeks as if
They had become ashamed
Of their tentative blows
And the light of soft anger
In their eyes. He taps off
The hanging ash into the
Lip of an empty Coca-cola
Can and strokes at its
Edge the ash away and he
Brings it slowly up and tokes
And a little gout of fire
Races across the quarters of
His aged face and the gym
Resonates with dull footfall.

56

They reel and stumble
And cling like drunkards
Consoling each other and
Break and stagger back
Swinging wildly their black
Gloves in the golden
Light. Their arms tangle
And disentangle and then
A punch connects and it
Jolts the head back with
A snap of the vertebrae
And the skin is yellow
And the eyes flare white
Like a horse's bolting
And sweat sprays from
The blow and gives the
Fighter a halo a moment.
They flurry and throw
Wild roundhouses and
Their shorts hover above
The canvas like ghostly
Flags as they maul at
Each other and their faces
Have sunken. They seem
Shocked at each blow
And sad and as if they had
Aged.
            Frazier is tired,
And his eyes are closing.

55

She stands at the window
In the dark of the landing
And the curtains drawn back
Looking down into the yard
And further, to the fields
Where smoke is curling up
Into the night close and
Dark and the shuddering
Light of the balefires out
In the fields plays at
The rim of the world
And she can see that they
Are burning hay down
And she sees the bonelike
Figures as they cross and
Recross hauling shivering
Loose clumps and fork them
Into the fire's mouth
And the bales fall apart
In the fire, fall apart

And it flares and flares.
She leaves the balefire light,
And as she crosses to her
Room her mother watches
From a dark rear chamber
Of the house and the silent
Child seems like a ghost
Borne through from a far life.