BASIL BUNTING'S WAY

That weather turnings
in Briggflatts
agitating the fine lines
at the hub of a Sunday morning
as bells under a rain water drops
over hospital cab emergencies
signal a punctured tire of time
with a purple weary hand
from a halfway house

you need not despair
on Basil Bunting's way
the immaculate moments
will spare all solitude
laughing in the relief
of a newspaper's headline
embraced by the traffic
as sprinkled showers
in an overcast sky
after a halcyon solstice
of a poet on a park bench
notices a black swan
frozen in the lake
in a discreet echo