(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 ringroad a thankless task that we rise above with
smug socks and runny noses

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

the boardwalk snakes above the mud between the rushes and over the stream
and guides us between the thighs of Chilswell Gorge
where sentinels of hazel and oak
first sniff our blood
and then welcome us in

with open palms we read the rough and folded stories
of their rough and folded skin

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 root skin and Dianic blood divine

you lead our hunt up
towards a sunlit world
and we burst 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 feasted and flushed with glory

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

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

such sticky and promising wings
such sticky and promising wings