Poem 26: Maid of the New Hills

the pewtered hills
shine out the morning
and night folds
with tired eyes
as Iron colours
plead for the day
how long, how long

a bowline sky
in stencilled blue
corrects the shadow
of cancelled leaves
as velvet colours
plead for the night
how long, how long

a web of memory
in golden thread
holds my body open
in arched prayer
as separate colours
plead for the pattern.
how long, how long.

now this mind
from its crevassed bed
hallows your face
and doubt ceases
as grateful colours
plead for the dreaming
how close, how close.