"Octopuses are not monogamous, have haphazard sex lives and seem not very social...
...there is a kind of mental surplus in the octopus." My desire
Is the upward curl of flame in Autumn's long-awaited bonfire. My desire Is the unresisted snap and crackle Of tap dancer's urging foot. My desire Is the jealous equilibrium of kestrel. My desire Is the long yawn of water's fall. My desire Is the echoing toowoo of midnight's owl. My desire Is the rattle of halyards on a wooden mast. My desire Is the sap-ridden push and push and Thrust of potato's first shoot. My desire Is the endless hanging on of green silver lichen. My desire Is the single yellow rose that Blooms already blackened in November. My desire Is the watered chortle of syrup-throated Blackbird. My desire Is the opening of any heavy-lidded eye. My desire Is the just perceptible drift of morning sun Apart from tight-lipped horizon. My desire Is the beckoning to pen of faint-lined page. My desire Is the first scent messenger Of oven's rosemaried lamb. My desire Is all the colours of everyday nasturtium And the absurd blue of dunnock's egg. My desire Is the smell of new sawn timber, new fed baby, New spun honey, new loved pullover, New mown hay. My desire Is the hanging down of heron to Stonepark's river. My desire Is monk's kneeling in devotion to some truth. My desire Is the unrelenting drip drip of first Spring water down through moss. Now I see that the river is
Fish is Otter is Glistening flesh Rippling between rock over slate past root along Branch around boulder Hurrying through strait and Narrow Tumbling playing leaping Swirling. Water is flesh Is fluid desire. I think stream swirls and sighs like a breathing out.
I think current flattens and spreads Like a trout Stilling itself then Spilling, rushing, gushing, Spouting Its way to a slow, deep pool – The very heart of water. I think stream taught trout to Turn, to slide by the flat, green side of rock, to Hover and slip past. I think stream taught heron to Stand stock still, To pull back, stiffen and strike; Taught kingfisher to dart To stab and trowel out a mouthful. I think stream taught Fly to hang in wait, Taught weed to drape itself All the way along. I think stream taught otter How to play; Taught pebbles how to roll, And how to clatter. Taught frog to croak. I think stream taught Lizard how to Brace himself against the world, Taught tree how to cling on, Hang on. I think stream taught moss How to swell, thicken, soften, How to hold water. How to hold on. I think stream taught Our ancestors, Taught us How to furrow our brows, How to wrinkle our skin, How to make lines And how to make waves On the surface tension of our bodies. I think stream taught Snipe How to dip His beak, Taught granite outcrop How to take it, Take it, take it, Until some micron is worn away. I think stream teaches me To listen, How to listen through the Pearly slitter slatter. |