In the falling deer’s mouth
There was an axe, and it buried the tree.
A footprint like God entered the blank space.
Every creaking sound was a leaking of butterflies
ring by ring, surfacing the wound. Yellow, spirit like.
A cry has taken refuge in the rock. Even now it tries
like an ache to forget itself, and be silent. Absolutely.
Where the echo runs, a lighthouse of birdsong
collapses.
Helen Calcutt is an English poet born in the industrial Black Country. Her debut collection under the working title Half light is forthcoming this year with further journal publications in the U.K. France and America. She works as a poetry tutor for, among others, Creative Alliance, The Stratford Literary Festival, The Andrew Logan Gallery festival, Writing West Midlands, Write On! and The Poetry Society. She lives in the U.K. Find out more here.