CHANGING INTERVALS BETWEEN BEATS.

This afternoon the moors have all but released

Recent rain into the come-again gullies

Feeding streams. The waterfall is hitting

A river in spate, white sound punctuated only by

The belch of a singular wave breaking persistently,

Un-predictably, against the flow. It is this quirk

That gives the water a time signature I 

Cannot discern, let alone explain in word or number.

Intervals are variable, so the beat has no pattern,

But it's inadequate to call this random.

Better speculate these changes are immeasurable,

Although not permanent.

SO THIS IS YOU

Here are you whose fringe is

Split off-centre, resting on top of

Square spectacles. When your fingers press

It is as if plainsong drifts into me.

Try not to talk.

Some things are so good it is not

Possible to know when they have stopped.

The song passes through itself

On the way back.

Let go of thoughts.

Each touch an echo of one

That went before a time I

Can't be sure about. This quiet

Is your voice.

Enjoy.

THE LOCK GATES ARE NOT PERFECT.

Listen.

Theirs is the language of barleytwist

Water arcing for a lifetime. Only a

Pitter-patter after a boat's been through,

A slapping and a clapping of hands

When the lock is filled, still and ready.

Cool.

DAVID AND HIS GRANDSON

David stropped the chisel on the heel of his hand,

Saying, a dull blade has a shine along its rounded edge.

The keenest blade has an edge the eye cannot see.

Let me look.

His god was at the edge without shine

Of David's chisel during moments when shavings curled,

And wood took on another form.

I can smell where you have cut it.

A collector bought the finished chair without

First sitting on it. He could not decide whether his god

Was David or the chair.

That man would enjoy your job.

REDSOUND

Red diesel train makes exactly the right sound. Or perhaps
The note is colouring my visual perception? I hear before seeing, even though
Light travels faster. At water level sight is on the lowest
Fenland horizontal. Any bed of reeds can get in the way. But a blare
Travels the sky that joins me to it. So can a locomotive's multi-media signal

Seem to contradict the law of physics.
But what do I know? I'm only a poet.