Your basket is empty.
I And the sun is everywhere And the air is filled with pollen And all the bees weighed down with light Are golden where the leaves have fallen. The sidewalk soft with petals. The air is wet with blossom; It was frankly hard to comprehend How all your youth and grace, so lissome,
So supple, could gather in the one body. The light comes through your hair As if your hair were light and nothing but: You shake it to set fire to the air.
II Love is when green turns to silver In the last light of day. We barely knew each other then, and yet The frogs croaked that hypnotic lullabye Until all noise was thunder, and the storm Burst, and the wind lashed the jungle. Had we released a thousand birds No greater good fortune than this single
Evening could come. Next night, bang!— Beneath a crescent moon shines Venus On the horizon. After which clearly the very idea Of fortune can hardly contain us.
III Behold the bird of paradise, compendium Of light, beholding us. In each direction wingspan Leads to the ends of all things On the edge of the air, where the green Feathers flutter through the mountain pass. Compendium of colours is the bird. We reach the summit; its beak flashes; The road is steep; I change down hard
To second. The mountain drowns in forest. Behold the bird then, circling above us On the convection of its own imagination, thinking Only Devour. We say only But how will you love us?
IV Behold that bird of paradise, aglow With its own desire to be here, Ravenous against an anorexic sky. The world contracts down to an aircon rental car
On the Feast of the Blade of Beholding. The day pulses hard on the windows, the bonnet, And we might float away from the tenuous earth Were not we so gloriously on it.
And only the bird is the witness, Its long tail trailing colours through the air. And we are so hungry we are speechless And you say 'stop we will hold each other here.'
V Stop we will hold each other here, For life is fast and the mountains are they burning? Switch off the engine. At dusk in the silence The untouchable grace. There is no yearning If we hold each other. If the metal still ticks in the engine It is not our concern As the pink evening darkens to crimson.
For fortune smiles upon lovers Even as all the clocks go crazy. Stop and you will clasp my neck, and I will lean Into your breath, and oh how the darkness is easy.
Luke Davies' poetry appears in series 1 and 2.Read more