Night Song

The white rose trembles by the step  it is
uncalled for in the fading daylight and
tiny plants sprout from between the stone

Soon Mizar will take the tawny sky
into protection  they will soon be calling
for the sick ones and all our passing

sounds will rise into the horn and be
cast outwards  scattered  the scale rises
like a tide and the frail craft is afloat

Who would believe it  yet the waters are
rough and the seabirds fly unblinking as
if wind were the ointment they wished for

Come back to the step I call as the house
turns and it is almost night  but there is
no end to the peace claimed by the sick

body and no relief for the mere lack of
fever by which now I lean from the step
and touch at the bare twigs with my wrist

Copyright © 2005 J.H. Prynne All rights reserved
from Poems
Bloodaxe Books
Reprinted by Verse Daily® with permission