JOHNMICHAEL SIMON POETRY

As we round the corner
rows of trees etched
serrated on the hilltops
against the setting sun
blackly comb their carrot hair
before their nightly sleep

 

Swept into the next bend
we enter a world of gloom
the other side of the moon,
dark craters blink at us
an owl hoots, flaps somewhere
brushes the branches of a pine

 

We come out, reach the bottom
start to clinb
our golden maidens have retired,
switched off the sun
and then the lights come out distantly
candles on the hills pinprick
into an eiderdown of folds
the city above emerges
and in sudden synchronicity
the classical music station bursts
into the Halleluja chorus
and as we warm into the glowing words
the trees, the stars, the lamps, the holy candles
all merge, singing Jerusalem in our eyes.