Coffee Trades

Cargo to the islands, lifts the smell of cities
through the desert,
takes our ideal of safety
and of happiness to seed the clouds
with little sparks of mineral and gem
that men may find in sand.
The dunes have soaked away this rain,
the comforter of all
we might have wanted in our years away
and made us sleep so easily like statues.
This is poetry for everything.
A blanket moon sails to its own music,
raised by gravity, a galley, guttering
between the scudding weather,
at its own pace, in its own warfare,
armed, an airborne army,
trailed by spies and agents,
spooked by nothing in the dark
of noon twelve thousand miles away.
In the hedgerow find the claws
of animals equipped to kill,
and cut them with a shining wire,
drag them through the doors to save them
from the floods and flowers in the shaking sky.
We see our day as hours and counted,
and in the daylight; light as part of place
but in the world, the night has half our world,
and makes the universe a place,
a light, scattered, gutted,
taken from the fields and trees
to make place a world of all the senses
at all times and eras.


Listening to :- Pooka - Pooka