Grimes Graves

Terranea
only ever gets sunnier
and beyond the gate
there are great places to eat.

Subterranea
is firmer, stonier.
There's little room
but lots of time.

On the surface-skin,
a mistress of wind plays pan-
pipes over the mouths
of ginger beer bottles. Light lathes.

And in the vein,
the icy ladder I jerked down.
The white root of my body joins
my circumstance to flint mines.

Above:
Ministry of Defence training land. Jove
the Thunderer Sun arousing the fizz
of grasshoppers. His sexy heatgauze.

And beneath:
Neolithic excavation, an Earth
scooped out like ice cream. Wet
rock, wet ferns, marine light.

Overhead:
the plague of cinnabar caterpillars beard-
ing beards of burdock, chestnut necks,
the rill and trill of skylarks.

And underfoot:
another kind of night.