He had to come back.

On a December afternoon
when the sun was more to west,
he landed on the most favorite place of his house,
the roof.

Just as he had imagined
the still winter air was abuzz with life.

Doves were pairing for a home
Green bee-eaters swooped on insects
Two herons kept following the grazing cow
Crows were busy with twigs and wires
High up beyond where paper kites could soar
Storks slow sunned their wings wet from the jhil
The cats warmed their furs before the cold night
The stray puppy gamboled with its mother.

Each piece had perfectly fitted the other
including the silently sleeping house.

He was tempted to walk down once
has she changed any little way?

He smiled to himself
then breezed away from the roof.

and in this gaping hole that once harbored
the love of ages
my shadow casts itself upon a barren wall
my thoughts fall to the corner
and mix with dust
for there is no place
there is no-one
there is only the sound of an empty room

the falling Sun changes only the shadow
from short to long
and to disappear

I could not weather these aching thoughts of you
haunting pictures
were it not for the presence
of the quieting wind
I dare not enter these caverns of memory
almost touching
were it not for the calmness
of the quieting wind
I would sleep for a thousand years
dreams awaiting
were it not for the awakening
of the quieting wind
and here I lay
on this windswept hill
you drop a rose
and I watch you go
the quieting wind
carries your voice back to me
as once again you say goodbye

God of the golden bow,
      And of the golden lyre,
And of the golden hair,
      And of the golden fire,
            Charioteer
            Of the patient year,
      Where---where slept thine ire,
When like a blank idiot I put on thy wreath,
      Thy laurel, thy glory,
      The light of thy story,
Or was I a worm---too low crawling for death?
      O Delphic Apollo!

The Thunderer grasp'd and grasp'd,
      The Thunderer frown'd and frown'd;
The eagle's feathery mane
      For wrath became stiffen'd---the sound
            Of breeding thunder
            Went drowsily under,
      Muttering to be unbound.
O why didst thou pity, and beg for a worm?
      Why touch thy soft lute
      Till the thunder was mute,
Why was I not crush'd---such a pitiful germ?
      O Delphic Apollo!

The Pleiades were up,
      Watching the silent air;
The seeds and roots in Earth
      Were swelling for summer fare;
            The Ocean, its neighbour,
            Was at his old labour,
      When, who---who did dare
To tie for a moment, thy plant round his brow,
      And grin and look proudly,
      And blaspheme so loudly,
And live for that honour, to stoop to thee now?
      O Delphic Apollo!

Cross the hands over the breast here--so.
Straighten the legs a little more--so.
And call for the wagon to come and take her home.
Her mother will cry some and so will her sisters and
     brothers.
But all of the others got down and they are safe and
     this is the only one of the factory girls who
     wasn't lucky in making the jump when the fire broke.
It is the hand of God and the lack of fire escapes.

I curse my body daily.
Waking up with the sky, my tongue
lashes red sunrises onto my thighs,
my lungs vacuum a familiar
poisonous plume. Oh!
the relief of mortality!
the sturdy promise of decay!
An ancient blood pact with the moon
turns me sour at her zenith,
and I slink down in my weather-torn coffin
smirking with anticipation.
Crashing waves of maggots pour
over and through me,
shaving away this amorphous effigy
to dust, debris.
Released back to the soil,
soaked in dew,
reformed in clumps by absent-minded shoes,
bled dry by stelliferous roots of sycamores -
my body giving birth to life
in ways I never could before,
in ways only revealed to me
by death
the spurious specter becomes pure again.

Doom laden
Light my way
With candle of blackest tallow
And flame of brightest white
I follow my nature
My gravitation
Without question

Godless and lawless
Out of the wild I came
Still wet and trembling
Hairless and bared to all
I lived off the fruit of the land
And open to the sky
As is the way of my kind

What did I know of fences?
Or of lines on a map
All I saw was plenty for all
I knew nothing of money
I knew only being fed and being hungry
So they called me thief
They called me savage

Doom laden
Light my way
With candle dripping tallow
And flame of dimmest red
With hesitation I follow
Stumbling and lost no doubt
Yet still I follow

                              By Phil Roberts

My skies are sponged in soft grey
water-pressed, water folded
water borne.
Anon, I have only ever been remembered in this way:
When the light is wan.
But I promise you, more than
the sky now promises a hopeful sleep
I will love you beyond hills and houses
Beyond clay, which melts in the rain
My love is a kiln, I am caught in the
hearth with you
And now if I was thrown,
I would be shattered instantly.
But I can stand a thousand days of rain
I can hold under high heat
I am glossy earthenware
Finer than any diamond or gold nugget
I will nourish, comfort, and warm you
I will love you such.