Letting Go Poem by Clive Turnbull

To look down on a field of flax
is sky enough
so what are they all doing
looking up, just looking,
planted knee deep
in scented grass

They all look ecstatic
and flight crazy,
stone deaf as Icarus
in a maelstrom of lift
that kites the buzzard
and the hard white glider

This is a great day out
that slips to stasis
like failed flamenco:
blood earth is felt
while heaven teases
by way of the clouds.

Is there no pity?
Such weight of yearning
might crush this hill.
Will no-one sprout wings
for the tremulous breeze
and simply let go

nudge out from the ridge
to meet the moment
the moment
before reflection.