Spell

Look up directly at the sky:
see how quickly it has turned
white as a blanched almond.

Notice how the yellow sunlight
has slipped into the ground
where we were just walking.

Now stop talking.

That way, you can really hear 
the bristling shush of dried ferns;
they sound so like the sea.

Sink into the sound of this.
Let your breathing bow to the wind
as its veil billows before us.

Now insects join the chorus.

They might be flecks of dust haloed
in gold, stung by the sun:
stitching a map across the day.

Trace their idle threads of flight
and sink into the upturned palm of earth.
Feel yourself breathe out, at last –

but hold still with me
until the moment’s passed.