Between the Lines (Traces from a Small Tractor)
While you see pelvic shadows, platysmas, maybe
in chalkland, gazing from Britwell
behind dark bells and barrels of sheep
a matrix of queasy symmetry
encases a swell of widening ribs.
It’s like Ravillious’ high-strung heartbeat
further excited by recent advances.
Then paler, like ghosted,
free-wheeling lines crossing the track marks
make out a tractor veered off to nowhere
just as the cursive script of a daydream
overcomes these dead straight lines.
The rabbit I tamed yawns
She opens doors on intimate designs
like these along her jaw-line
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