Sarah Maguire

For Kathleen Jamie

Waist-height, clouds of white lace in the abandoned graveyard,

the delicate, filigree umbels matching

the thumbprints of lichen embroidering the graves. A deep current of blue

surges below – bluebells, moments of sky

fallen, brief weather fixed on wet stems,

conjuring a climate gone from this chill April dusk, as rain comes, and light fades.

Field Capacity

The plump...

Freezing out of season     with Eid after Easter – a provisional city    a concatenation of loose roundabouts     building sites   and razor wire – scars of forced demolitions    spite     occupation and new wealth Little Bantustan       rimmed twice...

I have no idea what is coming      as I take the hand of a perfect stranger            as I’m taken through the streets of Marrakech.

The exhilaration of trust.       The exhilaration of risk,             of...

Even at night, at random a click – and mist fumes

from the watch towers clouding the cuttings with fog

Bare leaves are downy turn blurred and glaucous

as the fine fur plumps and sleeves itself with water

Ten beats and it’s finished The electric leaf

buried in the leaves is parched and replenished

all night

In mid-July they think it is...