for Zephir, b. 18.8.04

I root myself at the heart
of lucid, pathless space,
fingers in all directions
braced against the silence.

I am a pine, bristling
with dark electricity.
For a hundred million years
I have brooded over mysteries.

I am a plane, my great leaves
flapping like anoraks
beneath the cocksure
patter of the rain.

I reach from dirt to light,
equally expansive
in skies and under earth,
basking in blackness

and gripping empty air;
I am a splintered column
taking heaven’s weight,
a river falling sunwards,

a mind lit by strange birds
at the heart of space,
fingers in all directions
opened to the day’s clear flame