I am trying to climb, trying to heave soil,
hands – curled like cups –
ache and sting below birdsong, among roots.
Crows wait up-there, patient sentinels at ease
with accidental chaos;
the car is inside out, one wheel spinning air.
Sparrows calm down-here in the muddy ditch,
their flighty pitch a somewhere
I might reach, a chattering of hedgerow
life that might mean nothing, tiny pointers
whirling giddy sound.
written by way of an image challenge from Magpie Tales
the last two lines aren’t right but i’ve lost the plot so they’ll have to wait for now *lol