Heft
—
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
www.macs.hw.ac.uk/~ruth/writing.html
Theory is grey my friend but green, green is the tree of life
The Open Mouse 