I.
You land
on her sky-blue
shoulder
four red dots
on the webbing
of your wings
red-tailed
eyes brown
and flickering
swivelling
like a rock star
with a guitar
washing soap
from your face
as if preparing
to make
a confession.
II.
It’s the 19th
of November
and over a year
since the accident
when my bike
met wings.
Since I
listened to
your message
and obeyed
the summons
of wetland
things.
III.
It is not you
who needs to confess
to make it up to the land
somehow but I
preserving
your pond from
willow and typha
and phragmites.
In this work
I forget my anxiety.
IV.
I can push
a wheelbarrow,
wield a mattock,
loppers, saw,
not like
technologies.
Weep for the willow
but know it will
survive
far longer
than electricity.
V.
In the midst
of the lockdown
the sun shines on
my birthday.
And you
are red on blue
washing the suds
from my eyes
clearing
the ponds
teaching me joy.
*I record my accidental killing of a common darter and the impact it had on my life HERE.
**These photographs were taken at Fishwick Bottoms Nature Reserve, Preston, where I currently volunteer on a Thursday.
The Sanctuary of Vindos 