Mossbawn: Two Poems in Dedication

SunlightThere was a sunlit absence.
The helmeted pump in the yard
heated its iron,
water honeyedin the slung bucket
and the sun stood
like a griddle cooling
against the wallof each long afternoon.
So, her hands scuffled
over the bakeboard,
the reddening stovesent its plaque of heat
against her where she stood
in a floury apron
by the window.Now she dusts the board
with a goose's wing,
now sits, broad-lapped,
with whitened nailsand measling shins:
here is a space
again, the scone rising
to the tick of two clocks.And here is love
like a tinsmith's scoop
sunk past its gleam
in the meal-bin.. The Seed CuttersThey seem hundreds of years away. Brueghel,
You'll know them if I can get them true.
They kneel under the hedge in a half-circle
Behind a windbreak wind is breaking through.
They are the seed cutters. The tuck and frill
Of leaf-sprout is on the seed potates
Buried under that straw. With time to ****,
They are taking their time. Each sharp knife goes
Lazily halving each root that falls apart
In the palm of the hand: a milky gleam,
And, at the centre, a dark watermark.
Oh, calendar customs! Under the broom
Yellowing over them, compose the frieze
With all of us there, our anonymities.