Gaia Rooks

If you come at winter’s end
To sit black robed in
tender silence.

Still.

Ripsaw
hot metal life
crashes
through the glassy spaces
of emptying afternoons.

If you come at summer’s end
to sit black robed in
tender silence.

Still.

Shrieking
caw rushes jangle
morning chants
as rooks tip and turn
Westwards.

Black robed.

Cloud catching seekers
like you.

Deep Intimacy

Early morning
two deer
leaping free.
A rook calls.

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