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.
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
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.