Morning Ghosts
The buildings are skeletons, giant
rib cages mouths of
cracked teeth
eyes that regard
the morning’s light
without
brown bristled plants
grown through
their hollows
orange trees
grow from rust
coloured soil that
tumbles with
the wind
glinting, a mound
of tile
fragments blue
and white
used up
wooden
cable
reels
rows and rows some
branches heavy with
the fruit that
in
other places lies
where it
falls
to the sea
the land is
flat
in the west
low
green mountains
wait.
Near Valencia, February 2014
The Woodpecker
Bands of colour wash
the land and
sky
Pale gold slate blue
scrub green grey hewn
and hammered
the red head of
the bird bounces
rising and falling
loping, he goes
from the fence
post to the tree
and then all
across the riven
ground
as if taking a short
stop
at every point he
passes, perhaps
checking
to sniff the peaks in
the air.
