My father died ten years ago today.
How faint the feeling is, a veil of grey.
What happens to our grief? It sinks below
To homo ferus, speech mattered
less than pulling fangs of frost-
Rusalky. Instead, he grew a pelage.
Hush hour. Saffron light.
their beaks epée:
The muddy, raging torrent,
the droplet of pure water -
Anne, do you remember?
Here, on Brighton beach,
Is a Gower seaside suburb,
Little streets up from the bay
To Clyne Common, built on now,
Hand in hand with my mother
Tenniel could have etched
him into my mind: claw nose, half-
crown spectacles and thin lips' dab
turning the page. I hear the chock
Which bird brings us summer?
The swallow does, from deepest Mauritania:
we are its far Thule.
It screeches solstice evenings
It's an air raid siren,
red alert. Face slapped
Jabberwock, all maw, she howls.
My heart jumps to. I catch
I am running away, to start with
From a plane crash, or a plague,
Faster, faster, just
To stay aloft; then wheeling,
South, down the spine
of the Atlantic is the pilgrimage
the island three continents banished.