The first of us was born alone among the stones of fire
the angels cooed and awed at him
from their ladders winked and whistled
ascending and descending
like hod carriers
the Wise Above Full of Love had a plan
and set him on a knoll
‘As you’re the first I’ll give you
THE choice
three lives three ways
I’ll parade
before you
look listen consider think
then choose
Ready? Action…’
Exterior. Garden. Daytime.
The man, eyes first into the wide wonder
(Aristotle’s great ancestor inventing investigation)
poured out his mind upon tendrils and trees
handwrote knowledge on the veins of leaves
it crept up green
delicate as whispers
to the tip
left crib notes in the rose hips
with infinite lungs he inhaled the mountains and the seas
scratching their secrets in the raindrops and sleet
which filled up the rivers and lees
spoke into droplets and wrote on the ladybird’s shell
in the micro hand of prisoners and spies
without the lies
it all lay open like a centrefold
and the guy looked all night as the light studded snooker ball vault expanse gravity rolls
his eyes roll over back
in sympathy
sleepily
closed
then the cock crowed
and the First-and-Only loosened an eye
sprang up
put on some slacks earbuds t-shirt worn ripped under the armpits
‘come on, boy’
into the byways to run
good sweat
drum hearted
finger light strokes furred leaves
corn ears
flora miscellanea
flora abundum
the robins the sparrows the starlings greet and are undisturbed
the swallows dance
kick off clarty trainers in a hot holy rush
shower then earth work
livestock work
pruning and pulling out fauns
draw honey from the bees
grass grass grass for everyone
and the sun rolls over everything
the sun rolls over everything
the sun rolls over everything
the sun rolls over everything
birds of the air, field beast, fish
chatter
but no-one speaks
he runs with the caribou but their focus is the road
no chat just cardio cardio and world sounds
he names each and every morsel
who keep their own counsel
Here-Boy leaps at the sound of his calling
chases tail returns tennis ball heel stay roll-over sit
(no play dead, yet…)
but it’s a low vocabulary
Here-Boy’s love is the truth but not the whole truth nor nothing but
on the inside of every eye
that walks or swims or flies
is a covert a dell a hollow tree
at most a cottage or a lean-to
but no grand cathedral, no Notre Dame
no echoes
sleep now on your lollipop practical mattress, Number One
stars nebulae ghosts and jinn
give way to the angels at super-play
waking, he pretends chess within earshot
ear peaking behind the curtain
stage directions
whistling of spiritual tympani
creek of heavenly wheels
shoots a laser-pointer into labyrinthine facets of seraphic eyes
light upon light upon light
the Like-Yous God (not like me)
the First sighs at the speaking of the final mystery
the next day
he makes a clock
and then he watches the clock
the next day
the next day
he hears more angel babble
neighbour gossip and talk of the children’s bowels
can’t sleep for ennui
can’t choose any one of the three
so he’s laid down
tucked in
and sent a dream
as comfort…
at last the broad beans are sprouted for dinner
the cat rolls around in the weeds
at last someone, humming, brings tea