Quiet in the Water
Written for Betty.
Quiet in the water sleeps,
His long fingers
Stretched out to each side of his pool
His toes curled around still weeds
In the moor
His head pillowed by cold mud
And the water slithering over him
The water
Slithering over him
Half-buried in the mud
Is a crystal pitcher
A crystal pitcher to take the water
But he guards,
Quiet in the water,
Whispering love songs to the sky
And to the stiff grasses
And to the crystal--
All in one piece
--To the crystal and the pale sun
Like a fever, the world blurs
And the world nurses its time
And time comes and goes
And change
And time comes
And the world changes its clothes
The cold moor becomes colder
And ices steal to edges of his water
But he reprimands them
With his clear eyes
And they rim around his pool, but
Daren't creep closer
Quiet in the water sleeps
Smiling in his sleep
And his water ripples in the wind
He turns at a dream,
And splashes, and pieces of froth spin up in the air
And the wind steals them away, giggling
Half-buried in the mud
Is a bit of rope
A bit of rope to bridle the Horse
A brindled rope, fraying and splitting
With silver thread laced in
Silver thread discoloured to iron grey
And there are hoofprints, as well
Scattered about his pool
He fills them with dewdrops
The Horse is black as midnight, so black
She streaks blue
Her eyes are quiet like Quiet in the water
Her hooves make the prints
But only fragile, paper-thin prints
For she doesn't sink in
For all her size, she doesn't sink in
And she smiles in the curves of her blue-black mane as it swirls in the wind
And she smiles in the curls of her blue-black tail when the stiff grasses tug on it
And she smiles in tufts of black fur on her ears
And she smiles in her quiet eyes
And Quiet in the water
When he is awake
Climbs upon her, and wraps his long fingers in her mane
And fits his feet against the slope of her sides
And rests his cheek upon her head, stretching his body
Along her neck, like a panther-cat
And his clear eyes and her quiet eyes look up at the still sky
And the purple foxes dance about her hooves
Squeaking like kittens
They laugh at the stars
Her with soft snorts
And him with a wispy rustle
Like grasses in the hushing wind
And the purple foxes squeaking in delight
And when they sleep,
He sleeps in the pool beside the pitcher and rope
And she kneels beneath bracken and sinks
At last
Till only her head is above the ground
But none of the brier canes
And none of the waterbugs
And none of the little purple foxes laugh at her
The purple foxes, purple to match the sky under an almost-sunken sun,
They warm her nose
Their furry backs beneath her chin
And Quiet in the water sleeps
And sleeps and smiles
And sleeps on his back
With his long fingers stretched to each side of the pool
Wrapped in the mud
And his toes curled 'round the still grasses
And his head pillowed on the mud
The mud
And the water-blankets pulled over him
And the water-blankets waiting
Waiting to be thrown back
Waiting for the Horse and the purple foxes and Quiet in the water
Waiting...
For ever and a day.
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