Geology

Before the sun had cleared St Aldhelm’s Head
A dozen hares sat up and looked at me,
Then loped, and sat, and stared, as if the dawn
Were theirs by right and I were trespassing.
The deer went off unhurried down the combe,
Not fleeing, only keeping their distance,
And the chapel stood square on its cliff
As it has stood since Norman masons left it.
The rain came in the night. You could smell it going.

By noon, you’re lying where the chalk turns green,
Green again, the gold burnt off the fields
In one wet week, and light comes broken
Through the hawthorn on your hair, your eyes,
Your smile, in pieces and remade
Each time the breeze moves. Corfe behind you,
The ridge behind Corfe, and every fold
The sea made at Stair Hole is here again,
Your hip, your waist, the rise of your breast.
Stone that agreed, once, to be bent.