For M

DNA curls and uncurls
Like a girl toying with her ringlets

A tadpole shugs within its egg
Then stops, attending something
Half-heard and more pertinent
Than being born

In the eye-shaped herb beds and cuttings
Where train-tracks intersect
Crocuses bend like hounds
Towards a whistle

Migratory birds scoop upwards
Towards a new magnetic north

In ten thousand steaming beds
Twenty thousand lovers (and more)
Gasp, whisper, implore
The wrong name
The same name

Even Ereshkigal Rigby
Stewing in the dole queue
Detects a pleasing note above the whine and
Unaccustomed – smiles

The clouds morph obeisance

On a predetermined beat
In marching bands, garage rehearsals
Timpani recitals and playground rumpus
Every drum that might be struck is struck at once
As if confirming a single heart