Spirit again

I roamed the heath bleary eyed on the first day of Spring 
and glowing in the waters of a dream became unborn. 
I saw a flintstone held in the yoke of beige after rain.  
Silty furrows lay flecked in purple- a flock of rock doves 
I had fevered myself along the road and fell into a beautiful lunacy, 
flashbacking to ale and stone. I’d run across roaring grasses, 
through wind-bitten rivers that shine through flesh. 
The hole inside so cavernous, the heart so ravenous- for nature’s largesse 
I sliced onwards through marshlands and black earth fens- a filthy glory to the feet  
In a wayward orchard forgotten twenty years ago, I threw my clothes. 
As naked as the fruitless boughs, I sat down to warble like a firecrest. 
Bread and cloud, and a falling blossom lingered in my recent senses. 
A nightly world spread across the land. I couldn’t hear myself. 
I couldn’t feel myself. I was spirit again.