Mapping The Storm

Your poems have distracted me
from my market strategy.
Well, I say distracted, but
it's always there, that
obsession with the intersection
of manmade / natural.

If this were a fairy tale
I would come downstairs to
find my report completed
by some kindly, bureaucratic
elves; but alas, it is not and
my brain always does this:

removes itself at points of
human stress to the lyrical,
the natural. Your poems
tell me f a life now past
and of what went before:

of flowers and mothers
now gone, and of
not much going on
but always half the
dialogue supplied by
the weather, the shadowy
hills, the lanes, the tracks
the animals.

As it should be: people
using their brains to
study their brains
is never going to work;
what did the wind just say?