The floodplain is still With our weariness, the days end Back to the wooded hill Our leaning shadows lengthen And though our bodies rest Our minds still reach up through the leaves For the purple Pershore plums Thread smooth ladders through the trees
The sun sets on the vans As the abbey bells peel Through the radio hum Over the silted fields.
It splinters through the crates And seeps through the churns Over Mick Preece washing Its gilt ray turns All for a second to gold. Water like a scar snakes his ribs And glints and drips into the swilling bowl... The sun sets in Georgia's eyes. The sun sets and the wasp hum dies. The sun sets in Georgia's eyes.
Naked to the waist Tight plum stuck skin On my arms around her In my wasp numb touch As the flood plain floods over us In the green darkness of the grass smell And her river scented dress And the TV's flicker grey And they flicker blue. And there is nothing on the flood plain.
A child's voice sings with the sunrise Its boy-voice high and thin As still as the morning reeds. The sun rises with the babies heads To the mother breast