Carl Walsh’s ‘First’

From Tarp Green Light

my journey began wide-eyed in innocence sun splaying golden light across drunken wheatfield heads intoxicating under red harvester blade as real as fireworks displacing far-off cosmos of darkness and light in shatter of colour wheeling overhead a caravanserai caught in passing of days that trip endlessly forward rain spilling down round Neolithic mound to drain in chalk fields and run on in rivulets forming underground echoes of self as real as summer scented grass crushed underfoot