these are too beautiful
                                           the hint of nutmeg
around your ear      stray baby hair
with a pinch of eucalyptus

is there a way to measure scent
is that why it's so delightful

                                                    mid afternoon
and the sun is making dust happen
in peaceful channels
                                      we're being projected
on the white wall
of everything we need to see today

minor conversation
for a silent movie about an erotic Buddha
everybody is so touched

Maundy Thursday

the Good Friday sirens
are heading down to the harbour
and out to sea

the temperature fluctuates
                                                   it is a swaying night before summer
and in the cathedral a curtain tears

poor priest who       splayed open today
by a shaman's tumour-busting handshake
thinks in the Lady Chapel      trying to pray
            his candle has dazzled him
to moonshine

happy days among the castle rocks
singing to the westron winde
'eternity is dark' & 'it's raining'
& 'very close' songs

            outside the air smells of sap
and creatures are rustling chocolate wrappers in the hedgerow
disturbing his night's surface like a gondola
out of its depth and frightened
                                                          'blood cold and wafer brittle'
&                                                       'wafer brittle and cold blood'

Marcus lost his ear in the garden
to this priest who spends all night singing for it     

maybe Friday or Saturday

who shining summer
owed more on the river
                                                  a child would be
catches tiny fish
            benefitting from the sun
a camouflage      this is all the distance

something is missing from      a magician
has left his wand behind      there'll be no doves

I am dipping my toe in the water
it is cool and sickly
                                  this is not encouraging

the banks rubbed clean and grassy
            somebody should be on them
openly flaunting

hush now because of this stereotypical winter

your murder is not contained behind bars      a solitary passing
it has no prison      which is a plastic idea
for a fire      how the describe: this foetus
in the crib is a sound-alike negative
for the church basement      and lightning
has blown the cock off the spire

hence this      a word eater
swallowing words down there by torchlight
believing it was his idea      his shoes are
smoking with the effort 

                                      and he signs there is a thing
between these facets I am not covering
because I am afraid      afraid of the echoes
and pint glasses      but units of recognition
when cognition is scant are superfluous
and the glow-worms spray over the far possible river

I am teasing of course
like the matador with his bull
and just as dependent     
      on sentiment and archangels

                                                   so don't chase
the cat away because it is winter
and she loves you more in winter
she is hungrier      see      smoke hangs
over your fire because of the guilty wind
gilding your house in this time     'after'      is gone
you      me      here      there
don't say    love
falls with a box of children's toys
and a correction list     
which as someone said is a kind of weather

the one with the horoscope eyes

the window is very open
it's like a children's programme
wondering what might come through it

you in a dazzling dress
winning an Oscar
for 'The Celibate Certainty of Planets'

smug moss on the sill might be
intimately associating with falling
but for the ground floor and stagey curtains

is it possible to salute this logic
while cats are overturning dustbins
it's not much of a musical tonight

the singing ironist
playing the part of 'dog'
doesn't grasp this

he is
after all
a one-track entertainer

and for you      silence           
please inform me as to your terms 
take off that dress

       Nathan Thompson 2007