Hunting Kestrel, Danebury by Toby Martinez de las Rivas

Here is the ghost of a child I once knew
still playing among the withering harebells
& the gorgeous moue of the fairy flax.
I look beyond his bare golden head
to the kestrel that quarters the ramparts
& see a semblance of absolute love,
absolute mercy – at least a baffling, wild
joy – that, at least – in the watchfully poised
javelin of the head, the rapidity
of hér stoop & strike, hér failure, hér re-
lofting, the gaze that hungers into the spindle
without end: whose flowers are blood-red,
whose roots drive down among the lost chieftains.
A lonely god waits for us in the earth.


Date: 2016

By: Toby Martinez de las Rivas (1983- )

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