To Revilo Oliver

by An Instaurationist

This sky throughout the day
Made thunderstorms in play,
Piling them up until
The East was hill on hill
Of gleaming gold and quartz
And crags and granite forts.
Now like a tired, small child,
With closed eye dream-beguiled,
It sleeps athwart the land,
But clenching in trailing hand
Still one cherished, last,
Late cloud, from whose top-mast
Flashes a fitful light
Across the tides of night.

* * *

Source: Instauration magazine, August 1980