Six Poems

Beech Section

Each tree is like a mast
& rises out of sight
to air crossed by the flight
of kestrels, bright & vast;

the leaves so spread & massed
that down here it is quiet;
this underwater light
half green, half shadow cast.

Have you read all the books
& still got time? How long?
Enough to take a stave,

lean in & hear what hooks
on it. Time for a song
made out of wood & wave.


Nusle Brewery

Decaying in its nineteenth-century gloom
beside a filthy stream stands this old brewery.
Here & there the mouldings & the murals
...