A Stream and a Robin and Stars


Stream that winds from upland to lowland,
how in a dream do you know when to bend?
I follow a fell foot or bramble dell,
brimful my water with bream shoal, otter.
At each rocky stumble my torrent runs whiter.
I swell to a river or curl to an end.

Robin that wings from spindle to laurel,
how can grubbing find mud that’s full?
My whim is the wind's; I bustle and hop,
bob in the hawthorn, swoop for an earthworm,
rattle a beetle's skittering rhythm.
Sense won't fathom the rule for a haul.

Stars, pooled in a spell of black night,
where do you go as the dark turns white?
Down from the rim of your sky-wide world.
Down from dawn to sail with the moon.
Beginnings there go tumbling on:
spin; collision; outbreak; light.



Beverley Nadin