And So We Invented The Wheel

and still we were afraid

of everything we

had not created.

And when we were done

what was left of

the trees still delivered the wind,

warmed themselves by living in their little flings.

They were still singing my heart,

that filthy project.

Mary and the Angel

I returned to the place and when I passed it was raining,

Stopping to regard the house across the road

In a long coat like a spy or lost lover when the family

Who lives there now pulled up and piled in and I was

Laughing at this hurt I had shaped for myself, thinking what

A dreadful movie I perform in as I stepped away,

Cut off from flickers of life which once had slept in me,

Watching bow from the clouds a new absurdity to be lived with,

A bright and alert and ridiculous space between us.

Snow

for Bhanu

Greeted at the pink periphery

of a breaking season

no longer rain that

pushed the mist from off

the wretched hedges but from

the topmost drawer of winter

withdrew a softly whirring

& chewed the trees away

roads of cyclamen beneath

branches white heavy

rushed to & from darkness

watches foxes lying down

& round

them decorates silence.

__________________________________

Dominic Leonard's pamphlet of medieval centos, 'love, bring myself' (Broken Sleep), was a Poetry Book Society recommendation, and in 2019 he received an Eric Gregory award from the Society of Authors. He lives and teaches in London.