I knew there would be poetry

I read Emily Dickinson on the hill
that leads to the heath -
where I knew there would be poetry 

in the oldest green, peering out of branches, 
hovering somehow -
God is on the ground, she said
and I found a fox all spiritual red
and wild, brushed triangles
sniffing in the twilight grey -
It enchants me to stillness
just to be near Eden's ghosts
like this.

Gripped by creative novelty,
I wanted the crows to hear music, 
so I played them 'The Prophecy',
to interpret how they wish -
I wondered if it was their first time hearing 
Taylor Swift in this clearing
And the lyrical coincidence 
of her being related to Emily -
As I sat in the long grass, already 
rhyming 'rising strings'
with 'glitter-black wings'... 

We've lost her! My friend suddenly says -

and I am sitting between the poetry of animal eyes and woman-made lines, a fox's nose

and a forest prayer 

wondering

where my own words fit

amongst them all. 

C. LJ Ireton, 2024