They fall outwards
as if from the calyx of a flower
each smaller than a falcon's claw
their target a gravel circle
in the Byzantine barley
They fall like the hushed flame
where once the sun's disk
was ploughed from the furrow
above the drop-zone.
A Guardian review of this work is here
Also ona poetry theme, Manchester Theological Society has a meeting on RS Thomas this Thursday. Alas, I have two other meetings that night and I'm going to miss it!