A place for the waxwings by Daniel Nixon


Beneath branches of cedar

we made a case for ourselves


in the slim, cut-through air

of winter. Scrabbling around


in the roots, you found

a cassette tape—two reeling


eyes loaded and drunk

with delicate black ribbon.


You pulled at the thread

until we were knee-deep


in music and, pirouetting

like the summer just gone,


you barely left a mark

in the hollow, spent needles.


____________


Daniel Nixon is a writer, poet and musician who lives on the

southern edge of the Peak District.