New craft
I’m taking delivery
of a house that flies.
Wish us well, and hope
it will respond to our touch.
The tyres hum on the tarmac,
then no longer
as all the senses lift.
Pull back the stick.
The passing light
sets you to navigate.
Looking down from above
we see the floor of the wood
aflame with low sun
through bare branches.
The light relieves you
of borne weight.
The tilting earth
anticipates the sound
of new leaves, and later
their rattle.
The good knot of time
is pulled in together.
Will it come right?
A virtually silent line
peters out: the line of a bee
that hurries against the dusk’ll be
barely heard behind you,
pulling home to its shared room
under the power of a star.
Steve Griffiths’ most recent publication is Weathereye: Selected Poems (2019). His latest work has appeared in Stand, Planet, and the NHS anthology These are the hands, and online New Boots and Pantisocracies and Culture Matters. His website is www.stevegriffithspoet.com