Heathenry

Birdsong like gun-bark
and the night - strong and legion -
becomes day, only still dark

It is feral - savage, even -
to have waited for this crack
It takes anti-cohesion,

whether lying on one's back,
always one hour from sleep
or sitting, shuffling a pack

of playing cards. It's cheap,
unhealthy and chaotic
There is nothing to reap

and it's hardly quixotic.
But each muted soundspark
is richly hypnotic

Birdsong like gun-bark
and night - strong and legion -
becomes day, only still dark
The witness? Some heathen.