becalmed, we took quiet strides,
in the grooves of ancient rains,
where the lane slipped away.
above us our haloes of flies,
the creatures of the gently birthing night.
and sunset came with song,
bled over into the fields
of rape and of emerging barley,
even the muntjac held the moment in awe.
nothing penetrates this feeling,
becalmed, and embedded,
part of one thing,
the evening slumbers and gives way
as we kick the flints,
and smell the air,
walking in the grooves where the ground gave way,
the light gets inside
it gets everywhere.