pour down the flanks of slopes,
flooding the coastpath.

This is a mystery.
Out of the blue
a carpet, landed

but the truth is
each bell dreams itself
in the womb

inches its green tube
through, then from the centre
something purple pushes –

the bell
fluted edges curving close
around white clappers.

They patch and pool
the hollows but further away
dissolve

blue breath,
a haze seen sideways,
the slide of the iris

from something manifest –
ghosts belling the earth
sea-air, thickened.

Take them on film,
they disappear.
Take them indoors,

something wilts
deep inside you.
The air detects
———- – a blue frequency –

overnight they arrive.

From Open After Dark, Oversteps, 2017