cumbria caravan , eastern view

Chris Lawrence Phoneography

4:30am

spelltime hour of silence

light defaces the sky

and sun confronts glass,

i am a discordant instrument

out of tune,

field and track make profiles

in the light,

rabbit flashes white tail

crows beckon with raw calls,

everyone is sleeping,

alone without cellphone coverage

or far reaching internet,

my problems an essential alphabet

to be categorized and processed

without many answers,

flushed with a sense of panic

brighter light folds about me,

besides dad gone since january

people move about my head

reaching for my attention

often stumbling,

sipping coffee

i asked them to be patient

my service was slow

attention would come

from the sleep abandoned

most awake now,

allowing the light to reach my retina

but there it stopped,

inside was still a bleak landscape

of whatever,

and i had not cleaned it up yet

 

Hillside

translucent sheep

black face blotches stains

on hilltop landscape,

snow pulled over rain

and the old farmer

negotiates iced path,

eager forms shiver and huddle,

feed bag spills,

eyes seem without content

yet expressions aware

of eastern bite,

no other sounds

snow muffled nature

coating dry stone walls,

beneath wool they wait

moving agile on stick legs

through thickened drifts,

spring and lambs

a distance away,

reliant now

on human form

red land rover and flickering

headlights