Quaquaversal

The east wind, pitiless as a falcon’s beak, scours

the bare tor-top clitter of cank-hard rubble rock.

She lies between the rucked earth and the faithful moon,

Her feeling bones on granite flesh-red with feldspar.

Skin membranes the mineral mind

that sees spiky-tailed stegosaurs

slub-slab-slup by limpid lagoons.

She journeys from the white fire-core, the plutonic,

sedimentary, clay, humus, grass, moss, plants, trees,

insects, birds, rain, snow, peaks, roads, water, villages,

roofs, satellite dishes, railways,

runways, space station - and she sees:

Hungry hell-harrowed huddled souls boat the abyss,

sniff Mediterranean air from Europe’s rocks

for the life-tang of liberty.

United by the sea bed

We morally connect

To refugees wheresoever.

Quaquaversal.