Morning

for R.A.S.

You’ll comb the mist from your tapestry hair

I’ll sweep the spiderwebs from the air

We’ll wrap the falcon in his bells and hood

We’ll draw the curtains from the curtained wood

We’ll let the unicorn out of its lair

We’ll welcome the mummers home from the fair

We’ll help the wise woman cast her runes

You’ll wear the scarf with the suns and moons

Then when the sickle moon sails with it cloudy crew

This goldleaf morning I’ll offer to you

And you’ll let the dead stars fall from your head

Before we shake the goblins out of your bed.

Incident in the Enclosed Garden

(From the painting by Barry Windsor-Smith)

Inch-thick moss

on the greystone wall.

Crystals hang from the jangling tree.

Snake venom on her nails,

tiny birds

nesting in the folds of her dress,

the enchantress locates the appropriate spell.

The sky darkens.

A goat in velvet robes

lies collapsed on warm crazy paving.

I enter the broken conservatory.

Cracked flowerpots spill leafmould

onto floor tiles scattered with scraps of fern.

Hot green smell of leaves and weedkiller.

The sorceress gives me a leather-bound album

of Edwardian watercolours

I gaze at the russet goblins and grinning trees.

The book burst into flame in my hands.