angels

They come without warning, strolling into the kitchen,

stretching their legs around the table

while we make tea and the tall one tells us

about the candle that toppled in heaven,

the whole place up in flames in minutes,

the marble scorched, the gardens ruined,

the blonde one never saying a word,

fiddling with the radio,

watching the jumbos swoop for the airport,

occasionally returning my gaze,

her eyes as cool and green as the pool

which they slip into after dark,

breathing through reeds, the ripples settling

until the water is a mirror,

showing the stars, the spaces between.

Published in The Frogmore Papers, Spring 2003

country wedding, 1840

I see them on the drovers road,

drunk on rum, singing songs of the flesh,

rooks above them as they cross

fields where wheat is ripening.

Later, the boys will race through the woods

to untwine the ivy rope from her hair,

while amongst the dandelions and daisies,

a spider spins a net for the rain

that will fall soon and will keep on falling

all over England, putting out the lamps.

Published in Orbis, Winter 2003