(On Andy Goldsworthy’s ‘Clay Tree Wall’ – Sculpture at Jupiter Artland Gallery Edinburgh)
It has all there was, is, and can be.
The memory of rain is a fickle thing,
how it fondled a ravine, broke the dusty
fever of Autumn in a sleeting charade.
Bid golden orb spiders to hatch in its call,
eye dropper signals to wake and run,
sighs into the desert as lizards gallivant
to the silliness of the unscheduled visit.
Seas remember flat earth, like dough.
Rolling tides an intake of breath,
balling up and shaping where breakers
made natural chic in designer bays.
Cracked lips of clay stovepipes yearn,
seething for the gentle flirt of moisture
to kiss again in the season’s break
and let loose all that has been stored.
Trees know the truth of sky, clouds strewn
laundry that bite down on the angel wings
of their backs, better then to be the wall
that holds the thought within the squall.
Call in the mortgage of horizontal growth,
the tap root stretches out straining to hear
in branches reflected in puddles, leaves
jesting sideways of what the rain forgot.
James Walton lives in the Strzelecki Mountains in South Gippsland, Australia. His work has appeared in many magazines, anthologies, and newspapers. He was shortlisted for the ACU National Literature Prize in 2013 and in 2015, short listed for Jupiter Artland 2016, and received a special commendation in The Welsh Poetry Competition 2014. He was a double prize winner in the MPU International Poetry Competition 2015. His collection The Leviathan’s Apprentice is now available.