(aka Happy Valley)
for Jo

walking along the Devil’s Backbone
a kingfisher flashes across our path
blessing us with promises of iridescent flight

we link arms and grins
as our toes and knees and brains begin to spin
upon each vertebral knuckle of his scoliotic spine

South Hinksey becomes a pocket full of sea-worn stones
the ring road a thankless task that we rise above with
smug socks and runny noses

and through the excitement of the autumnal rain
we finally hear the official news
of Friday’s dissolution

the boardwalk snakes above the mud between the rushes
carries us over the gossiping stream
and guides us between the open thighs of Chilswell Gorge
where sentinels of hazel and oak
sniff our blood
before welcoming us in

with open palms we read the stories
of their well-worn skin

somehow
magically
you disappear

but I follow the breadcrumbs of your voice
to find you rooted in a treetrunk of laughter
a red berry of womanhood
of muscle moss bone and Dianic blood divine

reunited
you lead our merry hunt up
towards a sunlit world
bursting onto a vast belly of a field
with mirth and snot and limbs and ease
muddily tumbling beneath the cathedralic clouds
psilocybin spores upon a somersaulting breeze
our bodies now feasted and flushed with earthen glory

far away lie the royal spires of Oxford’s cerebral citadel
and a distant bell

a distant bell

and as we lie supine
upon this pregnant ground
my grateful voice begins to sing
an Alleluia chorus for the unfolding of our wings

such sticky and promising wings
such sticky and promising wings