A luminous mutter of wasps
Through dry fern, the sun afloat
In the blue bird-sea above
A barbed wire fence, wisps
Of white on the barbs, as though
They had once snagged a cloud
And the burnt trees rubbing
Their arms together in whispers.

I have entered this moment.
It prolongs itself slowly.
I stand inside silence.
Now I become.

The luminous mutter of
Wasps at their taxed work
Echoes inside my hand.
The fragments of cloud on the fence
Tatter away in sudden wind.

These have moved one space away,
Becoming absence.
I am freckled with leaves.
The river slaps at
My limbs which it has refracted,
Tepidly gentle
Into deformities.

From 'Midsummer' by Dom Moraes