cut

slicing the air
are swallows
dippy winged
ahead

where
a cuticle of moon
is stencilled
on blue
soft
above a riot
of blooming gorse

and pop goes a weasel
from a rustling
in the Cut canal
where the undergrowth
meets the water
and shallow shoals
of minnows
dart their sandy shadows
turning kaleidoscope shapes
across the stones
and again and again
look

here we are
walking threesome
out
in the sun
our shadows behind us

up up up on a thread
of fluttering song
the skylark
lifts us
yet is unseen
somewhere in between
the sun and the clipped moon

cuckoo: cu-ckoo
comes
from the Congo

from a tiny throated muscle
it hoots
and cuts through
our wandering thoughts
till we are there again
high on a hill
listening
as it scallops
from the air
a truth
and its echo
a truth
and its echo
and we watch a while
and we listen
and we walk on
ahead
where there are swallows
cutting the day
into bitesize
morsels
of perfect afternoon