qarrtsiluni

by Andrew Bailey

And if I will raise hands empty of stars,
forgive me.

And if I am through being fed by the rain,
wound round limited material need,
forgive me.

And should I come to the river where questions
are washed away under waternymph murmurs,
of fearful mechanical measures of wealth,
forgive me.

In wind and windfalls; in the imperatives of words;
in front of distant thunderheads, of empty stars
considering their way from me; those moments
you wanted wrapped round the flesh are flesh,
forgive me.

Silence by little silence fills my windfall nest
fortified with shadow for the mud. I am
out of starlight, empty of rain, a calculation
rattled on the riverbed, where the wrong jewels
flash their must-have figures. My sleeping stars,
forgive me.

Download the podcast

Andrew Bailey lives and works on the south coast of England, has published poems in journals online and in print, and was a winner of Poetry Review‘s Geoffrey Dearmer Award. A first collection, Zeal, is forthcoming from Enitharmon Press. One of the original editors for the Poetry Archive, he has also worked for The Poetry Society, Poetry International Web and a handful of fringe theatre companies.