Magpies
A pair of magpies woke me at four,
scuffling like drunks on the slates above,
dislodging something solid so it sounded
like stone dropped on stone.
Then, outside with tea, in June 2021
not quite post - Covid, distant cars
run the morning roads
flashing in the distance noiselessly
until the hills come green again in sun.
They will develop electric cars
but there`ll always be a roar
from tyres to break the peace,
and after that again,
just a shush along the roads of air
From hovercraft suspension.
Next year I`ll scatter the magpies` nest
and in that new world wait for the worms
under the lawn, and after melt water
makes a new calligraphy, twigs against the sky
will catch human voices resonate
in a valley greening up after the ice has gone.