soft larch needles    I sniff wish    thin dangling larch twigs hold
raindrops    christ & pagan wrapped to tinsel    autumn light
has projected Borrowdale's matter    a work crafts growth    I

peer    at a twig's knuckles    a needle's green edge    a tiny globe
dissolving landscape    Borrowdale is a    mass    of details full
a vastness of minuscule    high    resolution beauty    immense

numbers of bits    of leaf-frames pebbles daddylongleg claws
for an instant I spread    let    a moment explode    as I climb
through woods by crags    every detail of me    follicle bone-cell

grease    shatters or slicks    amongst    Borrowdale's infinite
tiny details    one    of my gasps stretches wetly with the beck
others entwine with white fibres of gills    unravelling    gravity

the calcium atoms of my teeth    jumble    along drystone walls
moss green-gleaming    my meal    of Herdwick meat    passes
through my gut whilst Borrowdale's    details    digest my soul

Copyright © Mark Goodwin, 2006.

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Mark Goodwin works as a community poet in Leicestershire. He has published in a wide range of magazines. Work has recently appeared in Stride Magazine and Great Works.