Neil Young

Curving now
And moving fast,
The wave rolls higher than the dead of war.
...

Lorimer's monument
Punctuates ‘The Lines'.His
Upturned exclamation

...

The earth, played out, seems forged with fear,
It bristles, stiffens, slowly fades
With introspection. Through the blear,
In our unease we move, bowed heads;
...

Shades are deeper here, less
Subtle than Aldeburgh;
This murky northern coast.
...

Here in Lake Havasu, it seemed strange,
The two of us strolling over London Bridge;
That Mary Poppins skyline long erased.
...

Thunder!
Purring like a thirty-two;
Storm-clouds,
Sagging, humourless and bleak;
...

little light… shining… her soft voice pleads… each piano shard cold and biting

dark October races by… out there a distant light ignites her words
this school exchange… we take the night train… Moscow to St. Petersburg
...

Silent until opened,
Perhaps more softly spoken than we thought,
Or loud, somewhat aggressive,
Uncompromised and unapologetic.
...

Our brooding, blue-grey visage slowly moves.
Below us, telegraphs, whose bronze wires thread
Their pensive silence, stitched from pole to pole,
Await the tickle conversation makes;
...

The language that he reads is esoteric;
Not hieroglyphs, yet symbols of high art;
Pages of black code that proffer colour,
Transcending each mathematical part.
...

Gnarled trunks rise up in lines like Gothic shafts of stone,
While underneath the weight of sky their branches groan.
Faint psalmody, those soughing leaves are clearer seen
Than understood; they quiver in a vault of green,
...

Slowly stretching my unexplored arm
On the land, I feel nature reclaim
It. I weave across all I have known,
Whose past settles in bright afternoon.
...

While rain on old Saint Mary’s church poured down,
Those opened doors invited us inside.
Creatively designed, the flowers grown
Filled all the dusty corners. Just beside
...

i. Rosace

Some forgotten grace
Lights the window's leaded face
...

Mind turns in on itself;
Collapses under grief,
Emasculated shock;
Look where you dared not look.
...

Out there, March fields wear daffodils;
Each trembling mouth mimicking
Your nervous, shallow breathing.
...

i.

Our naked bodies,
Flushed and warm, fold together;
...

...

i. Christmas Eve

Ill in bed, he sleeps;
His dreams, white as linen sheets.
...

In three-four time, I count each crotchet beat
And watch your bloodshot sun go down.

I hear Budd's three note motif, rising
...