“Split” © Mike Absalom

I too have tried to fly at
right angles
but without success.

Somewhere above our black
meadow
now marked as mine
a snipe brakes noisily
pulling the same stunt.

Beyond the ink wet field
we settled on,
pale ditches buck and shudder
like dragons in the
half-truth of dusk.

This side of the night
I spread my bed and lie in
it.