The Michael Flowers

by Jacqui White

What I am after, oh what I am
After
Is the flight, the flight
                                      of the Michaelmas hills
with their wings
                        of shadows and lights
and the long, slow
                          slow
gliding of hawks and of eagles
and the long long
wing, the blue melting wing of the
hill, and the consecration
                                           of dawn
The magenta of dawn.
And the blesbuck’s small
       horns
as she slightly so slightly, flowering face,
dips a delicate dip
of the delicate neck
         I heard the grass
she plucked.
I heard the bending stems
of the long grass slide as she plucked
with the sensitive,         quick dip
of the neck and the hawk
swung on the wing in the air
close to my hair.

Oh what I am after
                                the Michaelmas hills the
Michaelmas hills
and the cupped blue stars with their daisy silence long
                 ages long, that slight petalled stillness,
strong
and the Michaelmas-white
flowers,                               flaring at my feet
                                                   The Michael flowers radiant.