The High Path

By Thomas A Clark

let’s take the high path that clings to the cliff edge through the ripe barley past the corn marigolds taking up this and that dropping this or that

like a rag or a flag space flaps in the wind fluttering and settling between scabious and knapweed the sea flutters lightly away

trust the tangled path the sea at your elbow it will lead you through complex information Meadow grass and bent-grass to a fine sea view

in among the grasses are the manifold spaces little places where intention is no longer gathered but ramified dispersed

pale comfrey flowers linger in green spaces in the tall bracken as if such spaces were formed by bracken for pale comfrey flowers

melancholy thistle rest harrow, milk vetch climb through the long grasses to add at random a touch of color to the drift of colours

the waves are dancing and the light bounces back into a larger atmosphere or climate that you move in gladly in receipt of light

over the tall grasses the blue sky stretches an unimpeded blue you can lie back in crushed grasses and let your head fill up with blue

swallows swooping low over the ripe barley respond as keenly to the intelligence as barley to the least rumor of a breeze

barley combed by the wind ripples with warm light as if the light were not given but contained given out when combed by the light-seeking wind

the waves of the barley the ripples of the sea flow in or out from your feet as you pass through the ripples of the barley the waves of the sea

as a hawthorn will show the prevailing wind in a motionless gust of whipped-back branches you take the shape of what you know let it go

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