Charm

Walking the old path
- from rock ledge to lookout,
through gardens past Labyrinth -
an Olive thrush stops me in my tracks.

Bows, wings held askance
from her body a skirt, or jacket,
tail fruffed,
everything a-shimmy
in the trills
of purpose.

He follows her. Or is it she
who follows him? Twinned
on their orange legs
the sun shines through

they hop and turn
as if on the most delicate of portals -
elevens of togetherness -
those legs that do not stop

their running, hopping, turning
dance duet, bowing and fruffing,
both of them lifting up Mozarts of tails
till I wonder, are there pheromones
that keep them strung
so close, so on the move
together?

It happens all the time,
each day, each year, each hour.
Common as common those two -
where's the charm?

To the human in me
it's the fact that they're doing
no harm.

- Silke Heiss, 27th October 2018 

Covenantal Selves

It was at Mike Hallier's funeral
the thought 
first struck -

the covenantal selves
configuring in us
- shaping us subtly anew -

in each encounter
with each person
we really meet.

In spokes about his coffin
spun
such a mandala

of such different folk
suddenly 
I felt

all the beings he'd been,
all the warm-flesh masks he'd worn
so fluently,

so authentically
as the moments of his days
met him

each peopled, each scripted
as situations
nuanced into idioms

never quite before acted,
never quite
to be acted again;

from that dead centre
the web of an extravagant life's
Protean patterns

iridesced out
as instants of relationship
each arced

between selves
co-created
just for that scene.

We are 
just who we are
but always so

newly-made
as each new meeting
calls out of us

the exact answers
each meeting
craves

as a covenant
between two seekings
along the paths of truth:

so evanescent,
so
strong.

- Norman Morrissey, 29/10/2012