Ruth Aylett


The flock knows this land,
where among the rocks
the new grass  comes first,
how to find the lee in a blizzard;

The hand knows this oval shape,
smoothed by sea and wind,
heavy in the palm, from a beach
so hot it scorched the flesh.

The body knows this lay of
a new baby into the crook
of the neck, the weight of
her uncertain wobbling head.

And we together know
the in and out
of passing years
without thinking, without words.

Copyright © Ruth Aylett  2015
Theory is grey my friend but green, green is the tree of life


About sunnydunny

Poet, publisher, gardener
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