Sky Pouring
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to everything of night / badger follows the white path of his face
briefly the butterfly a kite on the spider’s steps
out-running cloud shadows / sky pouring from the horse’s mane
my window holds off night / the bronze eyes of a moth
cerise fluctuates green the neck of the pecking pigeon
pine cone I search for a poem in your opened scales
reverb on the cuckoo’s call / a cloud slips its anchorage from the hill
one last look at the stars / I make no difference to the sky
the new grass stretches to the rain / tyrannies are subtle
deep in rhododendron the bees saying themselves backwards
in the Republic of Heart we are all one blood
… down at my colourless self in the puddle
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– John W. Sexton
Photographs by Natalie Woociker:
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