The Courtship of Owls

Three weeks of rain

have softened the countryside

The hermit leaves his cell

to drink at the stream;

water cupped in hands stiff with prayer.

In the next shire

mercenaries gater by whispering city walls.

In cobbled village squares

pesants are knifed in arguments

about transubstantiation.

Black outlines of men hanged from ruined cloisters.

Red skies made redder by burning farms.

Deep in the forest of crow wings

the girl with small speckled breasts

and hair like rust

on Byzantine armour

stands holding a massive book

locked with a golden clasp.

Shepherds lie with knives in their caps

gable in dark tree shadow.

The boy in the fur cloak

kneels at the girls feet.

Fingers snaled with silver rings

hand him the book.

He tries frantically to wrench it open.

but the lock is jammed fast

with crimson rust.

Two Loves

(The Virgin and The Vampire)

In an upper room she sits and sews

A meadow of tendrils and whorls

Her eyes are brown Her hair is down

Beaten bronze on coppery curls

For full nights six by her studded gate

He stood her in the court to wait

She opened the shutters on the seventh day

He looked up She did not stay

*

By a tiny grey town by a huge grey sea

Painted boats lie moored in the bay

In a goldeneyed ship a lady lies down

To sleep throughout the day

Under highwindowed walls down narrow ways

She sucks his warm body grey

Her dress is black Her face is white

He gives She takes away