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A Field of Fear


A sheep rests like a birch
A flock like a forest
The darkening sky
A descending leaf

The cotton balls stand
Wary as the grasses
Never easily surprised
By the milky moon

Nothing can be done
Not one thing. Shears
As hard as dew drops
Scar any movement

The hills become wisps
Of nimbus. Panicking crows
Marry their cloaks in ramparts
Snow drops are put out

With a coddling cool kiss
Night's lullaby polishes
Its ebony cloth. Tomorrow's
Midas scuttles down the sea


© David Incoll 2001


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Copyright by David Incoll 2001