Another poem – why not?! 'On Putney Bridge'

The blackbird sings at night. 

The floodlight on the church makes him think it right.

So the scuffles and the deaths kick off. But at

the water’s edge all is limpid. 

The fish flash iridescence in the morning sun. 

The heron freezes, like a philosopher 

with an idea coming on.

It feels like a hinge of time, 

when the biosphere can re-align.

No contrails in the sky.

Just a fertile void in the mind’s eye.

Where the blackbird sings

is where the new creature begins.