Hunters long step past her toes,
their hounds are loose and harrying
a wild thing. A harvester swings a scythe.
They do not see the giantess;
I fear they’ll do her harm.
One careless crowd ignites a campfire
beneath the giantess’s cloak.
Around her face the giantess unfurls a mane
of yellow wheat: her thoughts are in
another place and improbable things happen
when you look and think deeply.
The sea and sky mingle,
the movements of fish merge with
the migrations of birds; we see past
an ocean’s surface
to an assembly of whales
and eels and lobsters.
David Belcher is aged over 50, he lives on the north coast of Wales in the UK, and he is a member of several poetry forums and writes almost every day. David writes and reads poetry because he enjoys it, and for no other reason. He is not a very complicated person.
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