Like a pair of hands scanning Bach on a piano
We move synchronised between scales

We draw close the mirror strikes up its shard
It cuts and draws blood it hurts like a birth

But it is through this canal of wound
That we fly out and make sense of the world

It channels us out and about onto the highways
The byways where we pour the blood as wine

Pollock-like splashes of red into the skins
Into the boats crossing the lake to the place of prayer

When you hoodwink me and I'm drawn back
Back to our mirror as a falcon homing to a wrist

When my flight is curbed to your will
By the conflicting spaces called time

I like to wear my hood like a street rebel
Breaking the rules of rulers through all measurement

Like a Dexy's Midnight Runner jumping train barriers
Shouting I couldn't help it if I tried in over-grown dungarees

Well-behaved women they say rarely make history
Well history who on earth the hell is that

The years are haemorrhaging through the gap of me and you
Running like a river through some middle ground

I bow and touch the edge of the moving river
It turns its current and sweeps me in its tide

I am landing I say I am surfacing
I am journeying to the place of music

Here I am servant gleaning the fields
At night we come to rest in her barns