The Drowning Fish
by
John G Hall

 

Buddha made of wood

Buddha made of wood
curled inside the grain,
a head asleep in hands
cupped around a brain,

folded origami frogman
bent back on himself,
polished by my palm
into a cedar prayer ball,

counted by fingers once
a single rosary's decade,
an ancient abacus asked
to solve an infinite sum.

The Robins

Lucifer legs strike the flint earth
sulphur coat in flames he bursts the rain
feathers crackling on the tinder of privet
fuelled by the blood of worms, untouchable
as the sun his sharp song is turned bright
from his scissors beak, musical razor-wire played
around a green encampment, his nest thought safe
at the centre of his mind, while along the roof tops
the white feathers of Magpie lower their black nibs
into the cherished keeps of the Robin's speckled eggs
agape mouths already tasting their golden ink.