I saw a falcon today—a merlin
Rare I think
Too fast to turn and look again
A flash it was
Like an arrow on fire
With a magician’s name
And hunger’s aim
Look out pigeons
Look out waxwings
They attack from below
And profit from confusion
With rapid wings
And falcon speed
They climb for the skylarks
And bring down the moon

Where was my son running with the ball?
Was it the ball he carried
That compelled him to run?
Did the ball say, “over here,” and “over here”
And off went my son
Cradling the flight in his hands.
Before he learned to throw, catch, bounce,
Or kick the ball,
It made him run, as if he were the son of all spheres,
Son of the air and sun.

Growing older
The colder the bones
Of my knees and shoulders
The stonier my feet
And my boots in retreat
The icier my spine
Ever sharper the incline
So it feels that in ageing
I’ve been climbing
Mount Everest
And losing my zest
Lay down to rest
Fixed to the summit
Green Boots at last