Geri Doran – Dove Light

photo credit: Andreas Øverland


Geri Doran
Dove Light

Softens the edged grey of the Cornish sky,
which softens for so little: the manx wish of the red fox,
the flicker-lid dreaming of the pasture sheep.

Not for you only does bitter scent gather in the gorse, or line
the narrow footpath along the cottage row
where you walk, abstracted, more hollow in body

than your cells will ever again allow. For with this
small descent in the soul’s wake – formal and final
as the coffin lowered through the coffin hole – you arrive

at a last, true home. How could you have guessed the form
would be thus: severe, bare, not from long abandonment,
nor disuse – bare from the first rough fieldstones

laid to mark the foundation rim, and bare through
the accruing rock. Yet you have come for this, foreign
and slack, for emptiness as source and final disposition,

so that you may know your cells edged and mortared tight
against your soft, small being, barren under the coved sky.