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Ben River

Off the beaten track,
Elastic band in soil cavern,
Bird whirs in perfect organism,
Under aluminium barrels grunting exhausted over dust clumps,
To be used as hideouts for hedgehogs,

Worms and fireflies,
Parading on drizzle cones in warm hiss,
Abandoning age in whistle cacophony,
Inside tunnels without walls on contraptions of convenience

Up on old timbers chattering in old tongue,
Too ancient for earth talk,
Blankets of orderlies on a carpet of floodlights,
Furry explorers by the grey derelicts waiting for a break in,
Smog lights on specs of uncovered ground,
Luminous bugs attached to my sleeves
Now imprinted in thought

For the moon to collect and pass on to the sun