Priors Barton Adieu

A picture in the paper of birds in flock, which takes me back
To those days I’d walk across the fields, primed to vault the
Gate and scale the wall and break into my home, and as
I crossed the green lawn, dusk beckoning, the trees turning,
A swarm of swallows or swifts or some other species would
Pirouette in unison through three degrees, gathered
For one last hurrah before the voyage out, or home,
Depending on their point of view. I’d stand and stare and
Envy their departure to lands enchanted, dusky summer
Nights, tirelessly rolling out like the great green sward
I strolled across, on the way to my home, which now stands
This morning, on the very tip of dispossession, as we
Fly the roost for the final time, leaving the curved bay
Behind, setting forth on our voyage out, or home,
Depending on the perspective we choose to take.



7th November 2007 09.30am

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