The grass was wet, rough,
Hissed and brushed against me gently as the tongue of a snake
Whilst the rain tapped the crown of my head repeatedly, slid off my face
Weird and sensuous. The world was a sodden, bleeding watercolour of grey,
Green. I lay down, ground my knuckles against the soggy, squelching mud,
Smashed my face into it, joyous. The chilblains
Scorched and screamed on my feet, numbed me to stumps,
But I was far too happy to move. The Earth's hips held me,
Her swollen brown gorged womb full of her miscarriage, buried people,
Was hot and alive beneath my hands. A lot of things here were still beautiful.
The pink silk of a worm zipped beneath my fingers. I turned. You walked the exact line
Of the horizon, just waiting for me to fall back into the middle of the heath.