This gap in the hedge
is neither absence nor lack

but a green Moon – the frame
around the young Wheat beyond,

a heavenly gateway
that beckons us to quit the path,

its stiles and bridleways,
the blue willow-patterns of our thought,

and pass through this cunicle,
this cunning – finger its tender flowers,

its pitted stems, feel frissons
of what we once knew as holy.

Thereafter trust that the bird not
in the hand is worth a cunctipotence

in the bush, and reawaken the desire
for Life’s wild fecundity.


Helen Moore

Art: Claire Palmer



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