The River Fowey

she rolls moorland to sea
in bubbles and reeds head
over heels in unbroken
prose over stones under
fingers of oak and arms
of birch. the bend belongs
to three cormorants blue-
black, silver-still. she brings
a body of nests screaming
gulls the questing head
of a single seal yet only
she shadows the salmon
belly bent
empty

to the sea
to Fowey
to Finisterre

The Beast of Bodmin Moor

You don’t see me
now in the undergrowth
your best dark secret
I’m your best dark secret
shadow cat you thought
You saw your dark secret
You can’t hold and no-one
Touches this dark secret

I never leave this place
You can keep your dark secret
I crawl pounce flash
Black this dark, feline secret

Feel my paws the memory of a claw
Scratching at your dark secret
How much darkness
How many secrets
So many stories

Find me and I’ll lie down
Dark, secretive. Yours.