He

He nears Ness

He moves through the marshes, much as mud might

You couldn't call it walking

This march matches no known gait

He pours himself forwards

Pours, sets, melts and pours again

In a looping flow

Learnt part from otter and part from water

He nears Ness

He moves through marshes

This march matches no one's gait

He pours himself forwards

Skipping, looping, flow learnt from otter

Willow weaves in him

Weaves him in

Roots and leaves

Making and remaking his bones

With ceaseless invention

A throng of birdsong in every direction

Wrens' notes sharp as needles sewing thread

Blackbirds chinking like pennies on glass

Kew-kew scold of buzzards, clack of skua

The godwit's call, which is red and gold

And ever the jag and haggle of the gulls

And ever the jag and haggle of the gulls

So he pours himself onwards, noisily through the woods

The marshes, and along the beach

His birds are becoming excited

Their songs, bright lines, looping silver through the air

From within him, he can hear Oven-Bird

Hay-Jack Mavis and Coddy-Moddy, Magareen

Fulfer and the Rain-Bird

All singing the high notes, the oversong

From within him, he can hear Butcher Bird

Shriek-Devil, Howler and Screech-Owl

Right in their darkness for what's going on

All singing the low notes, the undersong

Wrens' notes sharp as needles sewing thread

Blackbirds chinking like pennies on glass

Kew-kew scold of buzzards, clack of skua

The godwit's call which is red and gold

And ever the jag and haggle of the gulls

Wrens' notes sharp as needles sewing thread

Blackbirds chinking like pennies on glass

Kew-kew scold of buzzards, clack of skua

The godwit's call which is red and gold

And ever the jag and haggle of the gulls

And ever the jag and haggle of the gulls