Ashley Capes
　

woodsmoke

afterwards I stand on the veranda
woodsmoke and rain
beading on the ferns
and nothing else

inside she’s dressing for the trip,
hands smelling of milk and olive
and cheeks ready to fake a smile

it’s possible to apologise
right up until we get into the car
but I don’t because
somehow I’m convinced
that I’m defending myself

and it’s the silence that pulls us down
fills my throat with fur and
turns her skin soap-dry,
as rain beats a pattern on the roof
and nothing else.


hawk

across seasons
species of pasture
mutate
orange, honey, gravel
sea-shell, purple, berry

clouds migrate
wet dust very gold
brows swept clear

a beat of wings
on eyelids,
occasional
and
hesitant

before dawn
wind is sleeping
as curtains
orange, honey, gravel
sea-shell, purple, berry

clouds migrate
wet dust very gold
brows swept clear

a beat of wings
on eyelids,
occasional
and
hesitant

before dawn
wind is sleeping
as curtains
orange, honey, gravel
sea-shell, purple, berry

clouds migrate
wet dust very gold
brows swept clear
a beat of wings
on eyelids,
occasional
and
hesitant

before dawn
wind is sleeping
as curtains
mould.


aviary

when I think about leaving this box of bricks
and taking you with me
the guilt is like a fat, round hammer. the blows
fall from the roof and you’re worn
like the wheels on a hospital bed – black rings
round your eyes, you love her – and I know
I’m leading you out of the aviary, and that
you’d fly if you could
but I’ve given you dry leaves for wings
and the perch is a sweet, sweet glue.
when I see you, arms wide
I know the new cage is closer, only
to your ghosts.


slouch

rome is blue

the
detective
mumbles, scratching
notes
as
the sun
settles

comfort
tight between
the shoulder blades
and

gentle whips of lent

when he peers through the
paper-thin
whites of his eyes.


coda

the piano
hulk in the room
grandfather
sire
martyr

thunder and sunrise
the player
hunches
stabs the keys, gives himself over
beaten, amazed

plays
(beneath) the weight of the ocean
plays
(beneath) the blacklist in Europe,
plays
(beneath) Beethoven’s knucklebones
and plays (beneath) Bare Mountain

hands
like trembling spiders.