Poem for 18th April

In the night garden

I wasn’t there but, I heard, the birds,
looking for planes, were restless.

No, I was there, and it was the Amazon
all of a sudden, and hummingbirds flickered through my hair

or then again it might have been Iceland:
the white belching core of the volcano

or the highest reaches of particled air
beyond clouds, tears, salt-water,

with misguided flying-fishes, shoals of stars,
oceans of lost planets blindly lurching home

through the dark,
the evening, growing chiller.

I was there allright: bedding down,
communing with amphibia, devouring my young.