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A Quarterly Journal
Jeffrey Woodward, Founder & General Editor
Volume 8, Number 2, June 2014


Claire Everett
Northallerton, North Yorkshire, England


April 15th 2014
—for Martin Lucas (1962-2014)

lingering mist . . .
with or without the curlew
its cry

The open road. Wind singing through the spokes of the tandem. The cadence of two lives moving as one. Seeing with our ears, hearing with our eyes. So many conversations besides our own. Here and there a glimpse of the Ure, plucking sunlight from a lyre of stones, strumming the ballads of old. Now the Swale, rushing, swirling, swooping. It takes that ancient lexicon to remind me the river is the swallow is the river

red grouse . . .
the hills and dales
of a spring dusk

Stopover. Lights out, bedding down. As if that were an end to it. But there is always more to be said. A river of stars. A river of suns. Which life is it we're living?

the singular call
of the tawny owl pair . . .
quickening moon

Awake enough to step outside. And there, in silhouette, like one last drop from the sable brush, the male on his bough.

Lying side by side, as the early light makes stained glass of the leafing trees.

if I could learn
by heart, the finches' spell . . .
three lines at dawn

And suddenly, one thought above the chorus. What will the day bring?



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