Sunday, 27 December 2015

Spalting in beech

Spalting in beech

We open up with gunning saws
timber deeps.

Slabs of beech
reveal along the laid-out cord
a bodily flowering
gaudy as a peony,
thick as cream, buff of honey
the thick, dark tongues of bees must have described
guaranteeing sweetness a means to thrive.

A dense, secret opening
up the unlit cylinder.

Sunlit black etch
marks every petal
a scrawling edge
the finger

The smoothness of dense timber
and pulse of rising sap on every sense.

The crime.
                  The chiding bloom.
                                                  The innocence.