RETURNING

I’m seven-eighths certain

I have no wish to lie
In parish-plot subsoil,
But be one with the sky.
From where I began
In the blood of a man
Sold calves from a van
That we might not die.

I’ll fly with the pollen
The dust-mote, the ray,
A moon child by night
A sunbeam by day.
I’ll bounce off the heather
Whatever the weather,
No tie or no tether
To hinder my way.

From journey to nowhere
I’ll soon be returning
In ash, spark and fire,
The splendour of burning.
No dead or deceased
No chanting, no priest,
No fear of the beast
In ether’s great churning.

Among noble trees
With halo of holly,
A soul mate for China
My gone-away collie.
Great oaks and pine,
Sapling and vine
Each other entwine
Away from man’s folly.