Thoughts from a Devonshire Village by Matt Duggan

Arteries of thin lanes in East Devon

coastline of tilted blue and green,

motorway magpie with a prehistoric trot

pylons like giant wired cowboys.

 

A hunting seagull peered

from a matted pub umbrella

scouting for grain debris of silver

below sand dunes in webs of braiding salt,

wailing breeze loosens the coils of darkling sun.

sweeping sky in open mackerel.

 

Lugger cemented in pebble and flared seaweed,

pigeons hung from trees

berry picking like a wild chimpanzee

in vast woodlands.

 

How the keratin evening opened

when figures in a moon played chase,

at night in a caravan park like Bethlehem in shades of square amber.

At closing time, glossy emptiness

the only sound a trickle of streams

in gaps of old pavement,

where pitched night lingered

in sea gardens of the sleepless.

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