The floodplain is still
With our weariness, the days end
Back to the wooded hill
Our leaning shadows lengthen
And though our bodies rest
Our minds still reach up through the leaves
For the purple Pershore plums
Thread smooth ladders through the trees

The sun sets on the vans
As the abbey bells peel
Through the radio hum
Over the silted fields.

It splinters through the crates
And seeps through the churns
Over Mick Preece washing
Its gilt ray turns
All for a second to gold.
Water like a scar snakes his ribs
And glints and drips
into the swilling bowl...
The sun sets in Georgia's eyes.
The sun sets and the wasp hum dies.
The sun sets in Georgia's eyes.

Naked to the waist
Tight plum stuck skin
On my arms around her
In my wasp numb touch
As the flood plain floods over us
In the green darkness of the grass smell
And her river scented dress
And the TV's flicker grey
And they flicker blue.
And there is nothing on the flood plain.

A child's voice sings with the sunrise
Its boy-voice high and thin
As still as the morning reeds.
The sun rises with the babies heads
To the mother breast.