Member Poem

If the sky is whole time
turned through mist-coloured mountains,
imaging us and earth
in hanging clouds and vines,
then negatives are exposed
in ripples and hard currents,
ghosts, land and sky
tree-guarded in night landscape.

In the few sparks of a storm,
night-silhouettes own the sky,
where storm's ships crash and break,
and voices rage against black clouds- 
the black sun-shifting clouds;
two lives can meet and pass
along sky’s crossways, two lives
becoming fixed and interchangeable,
the same along sky's time.

Regression is seen in one bird
joining others, blackening the sky
with their flag spirit.
The sweet thought comes as they ride
that they know these routes, 
know each cloud and turn.
Looked into dawn's face before
like stumbling across memories
wherever you keep them.

Published in Fire