Elegy Written after a Doyra Concert in a Church

Lowing o’er the lea,
the cow did not know

her skin would dance
us in its sound.

Would my skin
could be a drum

to make your
circles move.

Such better use
than windy ash

or box of
halted flesh.

Lover, when I pass
stretch me round

a slice of hollow
tree, string my space

with silver rings,
fly your fingers’

memory, percuss,
percuss, percuss me

2011