Two Poems

A REDUNDANT CHURCH

        The dark has been expelled.
Thorns nuzzle under crumbled plaster
    where the rood pales to a dust that volleys
            on a flare of wings

        signalling the order of release.
To stoop and enter is to step right out
    into more space than time contains
            or quiet can sing.


THE OLD TRACK

Not a gust stirs the thicket, and the mud
    has split wide open.
        A rabbit lollops

through the sharp green wheat, vagabond.
    What am I doing here?
        Not wanted
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